


Pack

by Brennah_K



Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men
Genre: AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Badly written cajun, F/M, Feral Behavior, M/M, Multi, Mutants, Other, Pre-Slash, Remys favorite camoflague, Strauss is a...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennah_K/pseuds/Brennah_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long-standing, commonly-held belief claimed that Federal Agencies, the military, and most governmental bodies - as a general rule - do not hire mutants, which isn't strictly true, but also not advertised to the general public nor elected officials.  Despite their internal acceptance within these agencies; however, matters don't always run smoothly, especially when an staunch FOH supporter, like Erin Strauss rises to a position of influence over one of FBI's elite mutant teams, the Behavioral Analysis Unit (more commonly known as BAU).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know: I really shouldn't be posting another WIP when I've yet to finish some of my longer standing WIPS, but this one has just been demanding to be posted. It's frightening my muses; holding all of their cookies and goodies hostage until I do; and being a general nuisance whenever I try to write anything else, so I finally gave in.
> 
> When I finally conceded, the plot bunny backed off a bit and also let me finish an update to Punch Drunk and Reeling, so it's a win-win. I hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a small side note, I have added citations and translations for different Cajun phrases and slang as well as my sources. Not coming from the area, though, I'm not sure how much overlap there is in casual conversation between English, French, Cajun and pidgin/slang. But there is also some intentional exaggeration on Remy's part that will dissipate as Remy grows more comfortable with the team. In short, he and I are laying it on a bit thick for a reason.

Erin Strauss, despite working with numerous mutants in the bureau, had never appreciated or trusted mutants, but especially not ferals. There was something inherently wrong with permitting someone so closely tied to baser animal instincts to achieve any position within they agency. It was one thing for their abilities to be exploited by the bureau for specific projects for as long as they were useful, and entirely another matter to let them hold any long standing position, much less rank. 

Not only did ferals have a poor understanding of when political concerns took precidence over day to day operations, but ferals tended to think in terms of pack, and it inhibited their ability to use their team members to the best of their abilities in instances where a respective team member might be put in the line of danger. Two prime examples of this could be seen the BAU, a behavioral analysis unit: Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, an Alpha-feral, whose seemingly strict control of his animalistic urges and abilities often made Erin wonder how he might have fixed the mutancy test to get a toe-hold in the agency... and Dr. Spencer Reid, who tested as a feral, but whose latent traits and talents - at least in terms of a feral classification - never manifested and whom - were it not for his high intelligence and multiple doctorates - would not have even been considered for an analysts position, much less a field position. 

What was more vexing yet, though, was that despite being almost an animal, Hotchner, was well-respected throughout the agency and had risen without any evidence of political favoritism, held a position - just below her own. He was literally just one political misstep away from having her job, and as yet, she hadn't been able to uncover any defense against his taking her position. 

Despite having his past dealings investigated from as early as his service in the special forces to his later service as a public prosecutor then an up and coming agent, Erin had never been able to discover the slightest hint of dishonesty, poor judgement, or immorality in the man's public or private life. Add to that, when Erin had arranged to have her ally's daughter placed on the BAU to help her uncover potential points of leverage to use against the unit chief, the damn pack-mentality interfered again and the feral had in less than three months won the daughter's loyalty as firmly as he'd won the loyalty of the rest of their team. It was an obstacle she had, repeatedly, run into, when trying to thin his support by offering various members of the BAU more choice assignments or promotions - offers, which failed against the possibility of staying on the feral's team. 

Hotchner was almost untouchable, without having ever garnered any political favors to owe later or be used against him when convenience suited. If he ever started to garner those favors, and particularly if he did so carefully, her days would be numbered. 

Dr. Reid, despite his unsuitability as a field agent, was close enough from an operating stand point to be a threat as well, not for any leadership ability or argument of experience, but for the fact that - whether he recognized it or not - the doctor possessed a very strategic manner of thinking well suited to operational planning, at Erin's level, as well as a so-called 'quirky' nature that lead people to overlook his social awkwardness. While Erin doubted that he would ever have the ambition for her position, he was a viable alternative to partner with someone if the Director ever decided to eliminate her position and divest her responsibilities among multiple people. 

In short, Erin Strauss would be a much happier woman if Aaron Hotchner and Reid Spencer somehow were caught persecuting an innocent suspect, fraternizing with criminal elements, or committing some other career ending folly.


	2. The Reid Effect

Aaron Hotchner sighed, 'secure that dog' to his Second, Derek Morgan, as they watched their youngest team member, Spencer Reid anxiously backing away from the victim's snarling terrier. 

"It looks like the Reid Effect is in full force, today." Morgan commented as he grinned and shook his head, but moved to calm the creature and take it outside where they'd seen a stake, leash, and toys the terrier's late owner had undoubtedly used to give the pet 'outside time'. 

While he couldn't call Morgan (or any of their other grinning team members) down for repeating the team's running joke, without seriously breaching Reid's privacy, he couldn't find the humor in it either. No Alpha would. 

Seeming to pick up on the tinge of irritation in his scent, Reid cocked his head at his boss and favored him with his customary it's-okay-Hotch smile. 

Aaron nodded a cursory agreement to ease the young omega's mind, even though he completely disagreed, and knew that if their other team members were privy to the underlying reason for the so-called Reid Effect, they would not find the reminder of Reid's unclaimed state amusing in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, Reid seemed to view his state in the same manner as the animals and children, who were more sensitive to pheromones than normal adults, and instinctively reacted to the pheromones of an unclaimed omega as if it were a sick or unstable animal rejected by its sire, dam, and pack. While children and animals were acting purely out of inborn instinct, Reid had the added knowledge of his mother's schizophrenia and his father's callous dis-associative nature to color his belief that there might indeed be something inherently wrong with him that warranted the biological warning (or Reid Effect).

Aaron had spoken to Reid, several times, after noticing the younger man's reaction to these responses and to the team's running joke, but he couldn't convince Reid that the only thing inherently wrong about the situation was that his parents had not done their due diligence after his birth and bitten the back of his neck where infant feral scent glands were closest to the surface so that their saliva would mix with pheromone enzymes in the glands and mark the child as claimed. 

Even the reminder of the research done throughout the late sixties and seventies on feral biology, on the basis of which most hospitals in the U.S. would no longer even allow infant ferals to be taken home before they were bitten by either their father or mother to ensure healthy development, was not enough to sway the young genius' self-perception. 

This was largely a factor, Aaron knew, of Reid's unwillingness to lay any blame on his mother's door for his unclaimed status, the resultant bullying he'd suffered throughout childhood, and the fact that when he reached puberty when most Alpha and Omega traits manifested- their early failure to claim Reid interfered with his development and prevented his traits manifesting. Research showed that eighty-five percent of unclaimed omegas and fifteen percent of unclaimed alphas would not manifest unless environmental conditions were sufficient for the survival mechanism to be suppressed by the obvious safety of the young feral in terms of ample food, the absence of stress and immune factors, consistent comfortable climate, and sufficient sleep (none of which applied to the young doctor's teen years). 

Reid's only response had been to briefly acknowledge the point, but counter it with a statistic of his own, reminding Aaron that it was probably significant in both cases, only three percent of the unclaimed alphas and omegas who didn't manifest under even adverse conditions were 'gender-normal' while the remaining eighty-two percent of unclaimed omegas were male while the remaining twelve percent of the unclaimed alphas - who also didn't manifest- happened to be females. For every point that Aaron made acknowledging some of Reid's points but pointing out others as simply attributable to lingering patriarchal stereotypes, Reid trotted out another few that he felt persuasive in justifying why his mother, and by weak extension his father, hadn't claimed him. It was an exhausting routine that he suspected Reid hoped to wear him out with more than he actually expected to convince him. 

Aaron understood, completely, why Reid felt compelled to defend his mother and father (if for no other reason than as flawed and neglectful as they had been - they were all that he could hold to as pack), but that didn't mean he wasn't thoroughly frustrated by the situation and the fact that Reid's further refusal to share these details with his team resulted in a needlessly hurtful situation that undermined the young omega's esteem every time it occurred. At the same time, he was trapped by the knowledge that Reid naturally viewed him as the Alpha of the only source of pack and family he could now access, with his mother institutionalized and his father stray. Even for Reid's own good, breaching his privacy without the young omega's permission would damage Reid's perception and connection to the pack. Omegas needed their pack, just as much as alphas did, and Aaron, in good conscience couldn't interfere with that. 

When he realized that Reid was still staring at him with evident concern, Aaron straightened, and asked, "Did you have a question, Reid?"

"No, Sir." Reid answered quickly, ducking his head with a silent deferral to Aaron's status. 

"Okay, when Morgan gets back in, I want you two to go upstairs and check out the children's rooms. 

Pairing Reid with Morgan stood a good chance of helping Morgan stay grounded so that the loci-empath wouldn't connect too deeply with the victims' and unsub's emotional imprints on the space. Morgan normally maintained exceptional control, but cases involving children or law enforcement officers always affected him more deeply. In this case, where the two were combined, Aaron knew that he was going to have to keep a close watch on the man. 

Morgan was barely in the door before Reid was at his side and gesturing up the stairs with a brief explanation and a nod towards Aaron. 

Four hours later, Aaron was waiting, seated at the victim's kitchen table when the late officer's youngest son backed into the darkened kitchen and closed the garage door behind him. Somehow he had managed to evade the earlier search, having hidden in an overlooked crawlspace or vent while the local officers and FBI searched his mother's home. 

Once the boy was deep enough into the room to be covered by the hidden officers and agents, Reid flipped the light on, startling the young man, who was disarmed by Morgan before his groping hand could find the grip to his mothers sidearm, which he'd stuck in the back of his father's tightly belted uniform pants, instead of the holster flapping at his hip while he struggled against Morgan's attempts to get the cuffs on him. 

"Joshua, Stop that! Right this minute!" Emily Prentiss barked in a sharp authoritative voice that made the unsub freeze.

The jagged tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk of handcuffs closing on his wrists seemed to carry through the kitchen, followed immediately by the teen's angry hiss, "Shut Up, you're not my mother."

"No, I'm not." Prentiss agreed before sitting down beside Aaron as Morgan pushed the boy into the chair. "He isn't your father," she continued pointing to Aaron then Morgan and Reid, "They aren't your brothers. No one's here that's supposed to be, just you. You're the only one left here, and I want you to tell me why." 

Despite his hostile response to her only a moment earlier, the teen had been clearly conditioned to respect and respond to a female authority figure, and answered grudgingly, "They're never here. Dad died, and Mom just kept going out there. She didn't care if she got shot, too. Jason didn't give a shit, either. Just said that it was her job and had a duty to serve and protect. What about us? She had a duty to us, too. But that didn't matter to her. Jason either." 

"So you were upset that Jason joined the police force, also?" Aaron asked quietly.

"Of course, I didn't want him to die, but he wanted to; he wouldn't have joined up if he didn't." 

"And Jake?" 

The young man glanced away, silently refusing to answer. 

"How long have you known that he was applying to the police academy?" If they were right, it had been the stressor that had prompted the teen to start his killing spree, two months earlier. 

When the teen stayed silent, Prentiss demanded, "Answer him, Joshua!"

"I don't know, back in May, no June. He borrowed my computer to apply." The young man snapped, clearly upset that he'd answered her against his own wishes.

"So roughly two months ago?"

The young man shrugged.

"So you killed your mother and brothers" Aaron followed up in a soft questioning tone, "because they were on the police force or going to be on the police force, and you'd be left behind? ... and the other officers and their children? What about them."

"I did it because they wanted to die."

In the distance, they could hear a siren from one of the cars they'd sent away when Morgan had reported that unlike the other victims, the deceased officer and her two sons had left imprints of familiarity, guilt, and intense betrayal mixed with the horror, fear, and pain that accompanied their deaths, pointing to the remaining son, whose room stank of bitterness, resentment, and longing. 

After a questioning glance at Aaron, and a nod, Morgan pulled the suspect out of the chair and marched him through the front room and out the door into the waiting arms of the local police.


	3. The Secrets That Run in Their Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally, the team can relax once they get back on the jet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a nod and thanks to Sherlolipops, whose Omega Biology (http://miz-joely.tumblr.com/post/104983673202/omegaverse-biology-my-interpretation) influenced my interpretation of male omega biology.

Agent-Intellect Emily Prentiss knew that, by all rights, she could have easily qualified for the BAU - without her mother's political manipulations - if she had been willing to register her feral status, stop taking pheromone and heat suppressants, and trim her hair short enough for her mother's family claim to be seen. On this one point, however, she agreed with her mother: mutant registration could be a double-edged sword - as easily turned against her, if mutancy fell even further out of political favor. 

While many federal agencies not only accepted mutants among their ranks but actively recruited any mutants who either showed the self-restraint to exercise sufficient control over their mutant abilities to avoid revealing their status (or, in very rare occasions, those whose powers had remained latent for various reasons), there were equally as many agencies that would drop any agents who publicly revealed or were exposed for their mutant status. This was particularly true of the FBI, which despite the suspicion and fears that not only the public but quite a number of local law enforcement offices held toward this category of mutants, preferred - out of all available mutant categories - ferals for the inherent desire to hunt and their loyalty to pack. 

As a feral, her spot on the BAU would have been secure, so long as it remained a secret; as an intellect - a status barely even considered to be a mutancy as much as an extraordinarily strong talent in a single field - she would have been consigned to whatever office her particular talent - or in this case her registered talent (linguistics)- favored her for as an analyst, and like Penelope Garcia (an 'Everest" class intellect), would never have left her office or go out into the field, if she had been assigned to any other team than Aaron Hotchner's. 

It was one of the primary reasons that she had allowed her mother to --seemingly without her knowledge -- finagle her a posting in Washington, knowing full-well, despite the innocent act she had initially put on for SSA Hotchner, that her mother's constant craving for prestige would ensure that she would eventually end up on the most elite team available: The BAU. 

Because of this dichotomy, Emily often felt as if she wasn't a full member of the team and - despite being privy to their confidences - felt torn as she watched Spencer Reid trail after Derek Morgan, looking more dejected than she'd thought possible as he shuffled to one of the couches at the back of the plane when the others had chosen to sit close together at the front. In the three days they'd had to stay to wrap up the investigation and convince Joshua Patterson to reveal the location of the final three victims so their departments could give them fitting police burials, Emily's concern for her teammate had increased bit by bit as he'd withdrawn in small, almost unnoticeable gestures. 

It had gone from his not-uncommon choice not to join the team for an evening out after the case was finished to missing the team breakfast, barely speaking for most of the day, and sitting back down with an empty coffee cup when it appeared that anyone else was headed toward the coffee machine at the same time as him. What bothered her more, though, was Reid's increasing tendency to shrink back from any of the team if they passed unexpectedly close to him, moved too quickly, or spoke a little louder than normal. She suspected that he hadn't been sleeping well or eating much, either, but didn't know - having only been on the team a very short time - whether this was normal for Reid or not, much less whether it would help or hinder if she tried to approach him about what she'd noticed. 

Neither Morgan nor Penelope seemed to be taking notice of it, but was that because they truly hadn't noticed in their own preoccupation or that they knew he wouldn't accept any intervention on their part. As it was, Penelope was focused on Derek's shifting mood, and Derek seemed too wrapped up in his own reactions to the case to pay attention to much of anything. J.J., for her part, seemed distracted for some other reason and had buried herself in summarizing the teams public announcements and reports for Director Strauss's approval. Gideon was almost enigmatically silent and appeared to be far more interested in avoiding any notice or engagement with anyone else on the team, keeping his eyes fixed firmly out the window. She didn't have a bead on Hotch, who had yet to board the jet, but hoped that - as the unit chief - he had at least noticed Reid's quiet behavior and shadowed, sleepless gaze. 

By the time Hotch had finished his parting conversation with the local FBI chief and joined them, Emily's gaze had drifted back to Spencer, who was almost curled up in a ball in the closest corner of the couch and looked like he had fallen asleep immediately. That was unusual. Usually, Reid's length forced him to take up most of any couch or seat he was on. There was no way he could be comfortable balled up as tightly as he was was. She started to stand to go to him, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. 

"It's okay, I've got it." Hotch spoke in a voice that she was sure carried only to her, but just their interaction was finally enough to catch the others' attention. 

As she sat down, she saw their eyes turn to follow Hotch to the back of the plane and then fall to the huddle of Reid. 

"Man, What?" Morgan demanded quietly, shaken out of his preoccupation by the sight. 

"I don't know," Emily answered, "but something's... been off, and it's getting worse." 

"How long?" J.J. asked, her voice soft and concerned. 

"What?" Emily turned back to her, not certain whether she meant how long something had been off, how long it had been getting worse, or even how long had she'd noticed it. 

"How long was he ... when did it start?" 

"I'm not sure: I started noticing the day before yesterday, but there wasn't anything startling at first ... just little things and nothing that added up to any discernible cause that I could see." 

"Actually, you probably won't have seen it before; it's not very common, but..." J.J. trailed off, as they turned to her, silently waiting for her explanation. 

She shook her head, though, and demurred, "Sorry, I can't. If he wants to tell you, at some point, I can answer any questions you might have, but until he does..." 

"We get it." Morgan answered bluntly, and Emily knew he was speaking from his own experience of having the team discover some of his own personal secrets that he would have much preferred to have kept secret. They all had similar secrets and tread very carefully around the 'edges' of those boundaries until the rare event forced them to breech them. Emily suspected that one of those rare events was about to happen for Reid, but until they had confirmation of the fact, they would try to respect his privacy. 

She might as well have been a precog, like J.J. who could pick up glimpses of future feelings related to people she knew fairly well and often used the skill to pick cases that were associated with feelings of grim satisfaction for the team. Barely two minutes later, Hotch hurried forward telling them not to buckle in, they wouldn't be going anywhere - before passing them on the way to the cockpit. 

"Aaron." Gideon finally spoke, having been so quiet for so long that the others jumped at the sound of his voice. Although he didn't say anything else, Hotch seemed to read a question in the interruption and nodded sharply. 

"Tell them to re-direct to Salem, New York. I'll have someone waiting for us." 

"Jason," Hotch answered seeming about to protest, but Gideon cut him off his voice full of conviction as he refuted, "It's the best chance he has of surviving." 

Hotch stared at him with narrowed eyes for half a second before backing down and moving on to the cockpit. 

Gideon didn't deign to explain, though, turning back to the window, with a brief order to J.J., "Tell them. They'll find out soon enough." 

From her expression, Emily could tell that J.J. didn't appreciate Gideon's brusque detachment any better than she, Morgan, and Penelope, but their friend and teammate took the instruction gracefully enough and turned back to them. It seemed to take her a long moment though to work out what she wanted to say, and they waited silently for her to get there - even Penelope, which in and of itself was incredibly unusual, as was the fact that the younger woman hadn't already left her seat and run back to check on Reid. 

"Reid's ... it's... he's..." despite her customary poise during press conferences, J.J. stammered, clearly uncomfortable as she continued, "he's going into false heat." 

"What?" they all chorused in shock. 

"That's crazy!" Morgan protested, "Reid's a feral? I... He can't be. Ferals... he doesn't leave the emotional print of feral, and I've always been able to pick up ferals presence or imprint in a room, regardless of whether they were alphas, betas, or omegas. Reid's a pure intellect..." Morgan paused a moment as he considered the possibility, but shook his head and continued, convinced, "No, the feeling he leaves behind is an Intellect." 

Seeming to feel Emily's gaze flash to him in shock, Derek nodded just barely enough for her to see it before giving her one of his 'your-business-is-your-business-but-if-you-ever-want-to-share" smiles and turning his attention back to J.J. just as Gideon interrupted. 

"His genius is natural" Gideon commented, dryly. "But, it definitely colors the imprint that you are reading. That is not, however, the only, nor the most critical reason his aura leads to misreadings. Despite the infant-feral protocols adopted by most medical systems by the early eighties, Spencer's parents were permitted to take him home without claiming him, which for several reasons was never followed up on." 

"No-o," Penelope protested sadly, voicing the disbelief and heartache they all felt at the pronouncement. 

Faux Estrus or 'false heats' were dangerous, in and of themselves, for claimed male omegas, who lacked the 'heat-compatible' reproductive organs (hence the term 'false' - or 'non-reproductive' heat) and the subsequently produced hormones necessary to gestation - and more critically - necessary to regulate the hormone imbalances caused by an omega's heat cycle. 

Medical intervention was almost always necessary - even for 'strong' omegas (omegas with higher genetic orientations toward their gender offered the best chances for survival), and most male omegas were inevitably treated with a lifelong course of hormone modulators, pheromone suppressants, anti-depressants, pain-killers, and anti-nausea medications. Even with the best medical treatment available, many 'weak' and 'marginal' omegas suffered much-reduced lifespans with the average mortality age dropping from seventy-six characteristic of 'gender-normal' omegas and alphas to an average of fifty-two for mated, marginal and weak omegas, while un-mated, but previously claimed omegas, had an average life expectancy of forty-eight. 

The outlook for 'un-claimed' omegas, who never reached 'biological' maturity due to the absence of a parents initializing the maturation process by mixing their saliva with infants pheromone enzymes in key scent glands, was far less favorable. Their undeveloped systems showed particularly susceptible to the tormenting fevers of heat cycles, and without a pack or mate, most unclaimed omegas if they did not reach hospitals before going into their first heat, suffered often fatal cases of heat exhaustion and dehydration.

Those who did make it to a hospital - if they survived- usually came out of it with severe infirmities including brain damage - and rarely lived past of thirty-five. 


	4. Conflicts of Interest

Gesturing for Emily to return to her seat, Aaron walked to the back of the jet, slowing his approach as he neared Reid, not wanting to startle the young omega, nor trigger what could only be - given their location, present company, and working relationship - an unfortunate reaction that Aaron couldn't follow through on. 

He'd noticed the small changes in Reid's behavior and had suspected what they might be leading up to, but had hoped - especially when Reid's scent had not dramatically altered- that Reid could hold out until they could reach Washington and get him to a better facility than any of the few small hospitals that had been nearby. 

The thick beads of sweat sliding down Reid's forehead and the nearly rose-toned flush to his cheeks put paid to that hope, however, as did the fever so intense that Aaron could feel the heat pouring off Reid's skin before his fingers had fully made contact. 

"Hey," he murmured softly to Reid, remembering how bad sound could affect someone in a full heat. While alphas did not suffer heats in quite the same way as omegas, he did know there were some shared characteristics, and a sensitivity to sound was one of them. Whether it was more so for alphas, who might need that awareness to better defend their betas and omegas, he couldn't be certain, but until he knew otherwise he was going to try to avoid any of the sensitivities he was aware of in hopes of lessening Reid's discomfort. 

"I'm so sorry," Reid answered through chattering teeth, shivering despite his fever. 

"There's no reason to be sorry, Reid. We'll get you to a hospital." 

The Bureau would at least take care of that part; although, whether they would keep Reid on the team afterward, Aaron couldn't say... especially with Strauss in the picture. If the secrecy of his mutant status could be maintained there would be a chance. That was just one more reason Aaron had hoped to avoid going to a hospital in a small barely-metropolitan city, where anti-mutant prejudices were more likely to be prevalent, and the likelihood of someone leaking the information about a mutant in the FBI was far higher. 

"No, not here. I called around yesterday under the guise of gathering information for the FBI: None of the hospitals have even dealt with a male omega, much less one that... one... like me." Spencer's shivers increased, seeming to increase as his emotions stirred up. 

"Then we'll get someone flown down here." Aaron protested, reaching down to stroke the younger man's hair with sympathy as it became obvious that Reid could either control any baser reaction he was having or that he wasn't having a charged reaction to Aaron. Despite himself, Aaron couldn't entirely help hoping that it was the former. It was a ridiculous wish given that even if there had been any attraction on Reid's part, he had absolutely no freedom to act on his . 

"It's still a three hour flight, either way." Reid plead weakly as he was wracked with another round of chills. 

"I know, Reid." Aaron agreed grimly, his voice understanding but regretful as he refuted, "but our flight would be three hours without medical intervention, I'm sorry. I promise we'll do everything we can to keep this under wraps."

Spencer's miserable shrug was the only, and closest thing to, agreement that Aaron knew he was likely to get. Whether it was due to Reid's low opinion of himself, the inherent protective to the point of self-sacrifice nature of omegas, out-moded stereotypes of pack hierarchy, or some other cause, Aaron couldn't say, but it was true nevertheless that Reid commonly put others' needs, comforts, and convenience ahead of his own. The young feral might have even convinced himself that allowing himself to be labeled as a feral would increase the likelihood of other team members being recognized as mutants as well (a not entirely unreasonable consideration) and used the conviction to justify not seeking out treatment as soon as possible to stem his oncoming state... seeming unable to recognize that he, Derek, Penelope and J.J would readily - and without a qualm - accept the consequences of being revealed up to and beyond losing their positions before asking him to risk his life and health so precipitously. Aaron suspected that despite her short affiliation with the team, Emily would as well.

As far as he could read Jason, Aaron suspected that the older man would as well; but despite Jason being a full-empath, the older agent could be one of the coldest, detatched, and most pragmatic men that Aaron knew, so Aaron's conviction on that point was somewhat weaker than his certainty for the rest of the unit.

It was one of the primary reasons why he hesitated when Jason suggested Salem. Yes, getting Reid to the Xavier institute would substantially increase Reid's chances for survival, but Jason had agendas within agendas and more than one run-in with the quasi-legal mutant militia that Xavier funded, housed, and trained; the FBI - a love/hate relationship with the institute - frequently recruiting its graduates despite Xavier's well-known disdain for the agencies that readily used their talents only discarded them on the first hint of mutant affiliation as if the mutants, and Xavier - no persuasive reason to permit an FBI team access to their site or facilities. 

Still, they were the only pack Reid had, and -for once- Reid's requirements were going be given first priority.


	5. Entre Deux Fronts

Logan paced back and forth impatiently, sheathing and unsheathing his claws, as he glared at the airport's security team who were watching the blackbird apprehensively just barely tolerating his presence at the request of the incoming FBI team. 

~No telling how frantic they might have been if the whole team had come, as our 'intrepid leader' wanted~, Logan thought to himself the derision of his sneer split between his opinion of the airport's security team and Professor Xavier's golden boy, Scott Summers, who had nearly thrown a tantrum when the Prof sidelined him. Summers, to Logan's amusement, had become particularly incensed when the Prof. announced that Logan would be going in his stead, and Logan was almost enjoying the brat's rant until Hank McCoy, their doctor, scientific genius, and expert in nearly everything had stepped in and taken the runt down a peg or two.

Harshly reminding Scott and the rest of the fuming team that the reason they were 'doing all this in the first place' was to save the life of a feral, one whom through nothing less than parental abuse had been left in a particularly delicate situation and who could very likely die - even with their expert medical intervention- Hank had been practically growling as he challenged Scott to explain how his presence on the blackbird would provide more of a salutary influence to the young omega than omega's own team and the presence of an alpha, like Logan whose very scent would identify him as a potential protector even if the omega had already slipped into unconsciousness. Hank's parting shot, as he slammed out the door, had been the reminder that Hank - despite being the team member who would be providing the actual medical treatment- had agreed to stay behind for security reasons and to increase the young feral's chances for survival by giving the TSA and FBI agents fewer reasons to interfere and hold up the blackbird's return to the mansion... and that Scott should do the same... if the young mutant's survival mattered to him at all.

Hank's sharp words and the echoing ricochet of the door against the frame shut the conversation down almost instantly, and for once, Logan couldn't find it in himself to rub the brat's nose in the scolding he'd been given. 

"Folks." Logan had commented as he nodded to them and turned to leave.

"Logan..." Professor X had called after him, but Logan ignored the call, not in the mood to play into any agenda that might have come to the professor's mind and wanting to catch Hank before heading back to get changed out of his uniform.

~~Not every thought I have is attached to an agenda, Logan.~~ Xavier's silent rebuke had passed through his mind 

"Heh, right, Chuck. Tell me, if I were still in the room, d'ya think that would scent anywhere close to da truth?" 

Logan had been half-tempted to pull out a stogie, right there, and light it up as he'd walked through the halls, just to get the Prof's goat a bit more, but it wasn't worth the reaction he'd probably get from Hank when he finally caught up with 'big blue'.

~~ A wise choice ~~

"Yeah, whatever. How about you stop rifling through my head and take care of golden boy, there. I'm sure he can't have stopped pouting." Logan had retorted, and quickly found himself snorting at Xavier's mental sigh of ~~indeed~~

After a brief, commiserating talk with Hank, Logan had hurried back to his room and changed into the only semi-business-like clothing he really had: a long-sleeved black camp shirt, black slacks that Ororo had bought him to attend one of their former student's wedding with her, and the black loafers she'd bought to go with them. He'd never ended up wearing them, as the girl had figured out close to the last minute that she favored the maid of honor a bit more than she favored the groom and called the wedding off, but he'd kept them just to appease Ororo, who liked to dress up just to come down for grub on Saturday mornings when more than half the mansions' residents could be found roaming around in pjs and workout clothes.

Given how antsy the TSA renta-cops were acting, changing had been the right choice. Who knew how they would have freaked out seeing him in the black armored leather's he typically wore on the team's missions. 

Dismissing the airport security as the FBI jet touched down, Logan was almost curious how the incoming team would react to him. Xavier claimed that there was at least one mutant on the team, but whether there were more or to what extent they may be aware of each other's status... who could say. Outside of that fact and that their team lead, a Unit Chief Senior Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner seemed to at least give a damn about the omega's welfare, or at least enough of a damn about it that he was willing to divert their jet to get his agent the best care possible - there wasn't really very much that they knew about the make up of the team, the BAU in general, or the status of mutants in the FBI - or any of the federal agencies really. It was one of the reasons that Logan had been selected to go. 

Despite his gruff demeanor and low tolerance for disrespect, immaturity, and officiousness, Logan stood both the best chance of both 'passing' as a non-mutant (as long as he wasn't subjected to a metal detector) and defending himself through so-called conventional fighting techniques than anyone else on the team. Confident that he was ready for almost any attitude he might face from the incoming team, Logan still found himself bemused and surprised by the FBI team as they came off the jet's platform.

The first two off the jet were a younger dark-haired man that could have been mistaken, in both looks and bearing, as Logan's son and a human shaped bundle that his younger look-alike seemed to be carrying with ease ... and were unquestionably ferals: the alpha's (his look-alike) barely-muted scent carrying to him easily despite the dozen yards between them while the bundled omega's scent barely reached him with the tainted scent of over-used suppressants. The younger alpha's eyes fixed on him quickly, and Logan stiffened in anticipation of a challenge, especially with the presence of an in-heat omega - claimed or not (instinct was instinct; and even where there was a lack of interest in mating, alphas were hardwired with a tendency to feel territorial and protective towards omegas, especially omegas with whom they had frequent interaction).

The younger alpha surprised him, though, with a show of self-control that Logan wasn't certain he could have shown even in his late thirties (as the other alpha looked to be). As Logan watched, noticing the small micro-movements and expressions of a feral struggling against his instincts, the younger man stopped as he reached the foot of the plane's stairs, grit his teeth, lips closed and pressed tightly against the instinct to bare his teeth; forced his gaze from meeting Logan's to the ground; and slowly, rolled his chin down tilting his head slightly as he did... very, very slightly, reluctantly showing his throat. The fight of not pulling the omega into his chest was clearly harder for the younger man, but Logan liked him for it; it was one thing to make yourself vulnerable to a potential challenger and another entirely to hand over someone under your protection. 

In response, Logan gave a soft approving chuff, relaxed his stance, and nodded to the man in greeting, then looked beyond him to the string of people following. The next to come down was a younger, well-built black man, who from his stance and assessing gaze, was probably an alpha-male in general human terms, but not feral alpha. After a quick glance at the feral alpha, who'd come off the plane ahead of him, and was now moving toward Logan in response to his nod, the young man turned to study him forcing a relaxed stance that quickly became naturally relaxed as he turned to the woman who followed. His scent was still guarded and wary, but non-aggressive, which suited Logan fine. 

The woman coming down the stairs after him would have looked out of place anywhere outside of a 1920s black and white film. Even her hair was piled up in a vintage 'do' that reminded him of Mae West or Jean Harlow, descriptions particularly fitting, given her full bodied frame and a dress that wouldn't have been out of place on either actress. If she weren't watching the man ahead of her with a particularly devoted and concerned gaze, Logan might have considered throwing a couple of passes her way, once the omega was settled in with Hank, but it was clear from the way her eyes were fixed on the young black man that she probably wouldn't give Logan the time of day. 

The next two down the stairs, both women, were almost typical by comparison but with the dime-a-dozen kind of looks that Logan could easily ignore. The first was a blonde in the standard business casual look that made her look as much like an anchor woman as an FBI agent, nothing about her manner or scent stood out to him, and he quickly dismissed her from his assessment. He was certain she could defend herself if needed, but other than that, likely wouldn't pose a threat the way the other dark-haired woman, seemed likely to. The second seemed edgier and more likely to have the ability to attack, and expressed the difference some what subtly in her clothing choices and stance. Her scent had a slightly familiar taint to it, but with the influx of the others scents, particularly the two ferals who were almost beside him now, Logan couldn't tell what it was, but as it didn't communicate any negative emotions he let the point drop to study the final team member coming off the jet, and the only one knew.

Jason Gideon, now much older than the the first time they'd met in '78, had been one of Fred Duncan's junior agents in the Department of Mutant affairs. With Duncan's death, from cancer, the program had lost its strongest advocate, and the x-men lost one of their closest liaison's with the FBI when the team was dissolved shortly after. Gideon, who'd risen to a senior supervisory agent on Duncan's team, by that time, had seemed to want nothing whatsoever to do with the X-men, the Xavier institute, or their cause. Claiming that Xavier and the X-men's efforts were only instigating anti-mutant sympathies and dragging the FBI's reputation down by association, he had been quick to cut off contact as soon as the department ended. Clearly, though, despite claiming to want nothing to do with them, Gideon wasn't above calling on them when he needed help and had kept up to date on their contact information as it changed every few years. 

If it weren't for the omega needing care, Logan might have been half-tempted to show up just to tell Gideon that he was on his own, and from Gideon's pinched expression, he could tell the man knew it.

It didn't bother him, particularly, that the man himself hadn't wanted to deal with them, but from what little information they'd gotten from the FBI after the Mutant Affairs department had been shut down, Logan knew that Gideon had been instrumental in writing and implementing wide-spread mutant employment policies, including their recruitment, non-disclosure, and termination policies employed by the FBI, CIA, NIS, and a handful of other agencies.

Where they could, the institute's staff tried to keep in touch with former students, so knew that a handful had been recruited by federal agencies; but more often than not, their former students had subsequently cut off all contact with their professors. As a result, there had been very little information forthcoming after their induction into the various agencies; although, there had been a few rare incidents where former students or known mutants had been released from their positions due to their mutant status being disclosed publically. In most cases, the former agents had continued to refuse contact with any known associate of the Professor and kept tight lips about their time as feds when anyone asked. The few attempts to place sympathetic graduates into any of the federal agencies but the FBI particularly, had failed as the grads had either been weeded out at FLETC or had broken ties after being hired and refused to follow through on their original agreement to pass operational information along to Xavier. 

In short, Gideon and the policy recommendations he'd made to the various federal agencies, all of which seemed to have been implemented, had made Logan and the X-men's job -protecting mutants- substantially more difficult. 

Putting off the confrontation that he very much wanted to have with Gideon, as the other two ferals reached him, Logan gestured to the clam-shell steps of the blackbird behind him, not waiting for introductions as he instructed, "This way, Gentlemen. Dr. Hank McCoy knows you're coming and has everything your young friend might need ready and waiting."


	6. A Plus Tard

"Come on, Cajun, pick up." Logan growled at his phone. 

The phone stayed stubbornly silent.

"Sorry, Pup," he commented softly to the young omega, who was staring at him with uncertain eyes. "I'll keep trying, though. He might still be sleepin."

"But, it's after two in the afternoon." The young blond, Jareau, protested. 

"Logan said he's in New Orleans." Reid answered softly, as if that were self-explanatory. Jareau continue to look at him as if that really didn't mean anything to her, so Logan decided to fill her in on a few details that she'd clearly never considered, like the fact that not everyone aspired to live the fallacy of a nine to five, white-picket fence lifestyle but sometimes actually accepted life for what it was and lived accordingly. 

Before Logan could set her strait, though, Reid cautiously explained, "New Orlean's is purported to have a lively night life and a pretty entrenched gambling scene as well," in a patient tone that Logan was certain he wouldn't have been using. 

He couldn't say why, off the top of his head, but the blonde quickly-judgmental attitude was getting on his nerves. She had already interrupted Hank's discussion of his recommendations for Reid's treatment during the course of his heat so many times that - as mild mannered as Hank was- he'd started grinding his teeth over a half an hour before. 

Logan couldn't help but be bothered by the fact that the omega, whose primary focus should be on resting up for the next bout of fevers was wasting his time trying to convince the chit that he was in a good enough condition to accept Logan's offer. The rest of the team, even Hotchner, the dark-haired alpha who'd carried Reid off the plane, had listened to the Hank's suggestions, asked Reid what he wanted to do, and after hearing their teammate out, encouraged Reid to take the chance and let Logan follow through on his offer to bite Reid - making a parental claim. They hoped that-coupled with a hormone treatment Hank had been working on- the bite and subsequent introduction of Logan's saliva into Reid's endocrine system would act as a 'jumpstart' and stimulate Reid's body to start producing some of the hormones that scientists and pharmaceutical companies had yet to successfully synthesize but that would help stem the worst of his fevers and --hopefully-- decrease the likelihood of his coming away with any serious, lasting infirmities.

"So? Are you really willing to take word the word of someone you've never met, sight unseen, on anything, much less this?" Jareau sniffed disdainfully. "There has to be some other option."

That was more than enough, as far as Logan was concerned. "Look here, little girl, I don't know what got in your craw, but..."

"Mr. Howlette," Reid interrupted, his tone of voice (and scent) that of a soft plea, even though his words were closer to a demand, "I would like to speak with J.J. privately."

"Okay kid, but you remember it is your decision and your life your talkin' about." Logan agreed, smirking when Jareau bristled. 

"Is that a threat." Jareau demanded snippily, getting up in his face.

"Naw, you're the only one here who don't seem to care 'bout what that boy's goin' through." Logan answered, stepping around her and leaving before Reid could voice the protest and defense of the chit that Logan could read in his expression. 

The others were slower to leave but a quiet 'please' from Reid had them trailing after him. Once they were out in the hall with the door closed behind them, Logan turned on the others, demanding, "What's her problem?" 

"I'm sure J.J.'s just wants Spencer to tread carefully. I suspect that she is having a difficult time separating her reading of situation from her reading of you, Dr. McCoy, and your associates." Hotchner explained, still being careful not to meet Logan's eyes or suggest a challenge in any other way. 

"Her reading? Is she a 'path?" Despite his association with Professor Xavier and Jean, Logan couldn't say he liked or trusted 'paths, and this blonde wasn't doing anything to improve his opinion of them. 

"No, ironically, if she were, it would have probably alleviated the situation. Agent Jareau's a 'Tenpo' class precog. In all likelihood, she is picking up negative aspects of Spencer's association with you and the others, but doesn't have the counterbalance of what could happen if we took him back to the feral center in Washington for treatment, nor a reading of what could occur if he decided not to take you up on your offer. To my understanding, it's difficult for precogs to differentiate on gradations of negative or dangerous outcomes, without having multiple exposure options." 

Despite his irritation with the woman, Logan couldn't help wincing at the mention of Jareau's ranking. While mutancy strength ran the full spectrum of strengths and varieties of abilities, the Tenpo to Everest spectrum was used to assess a mutants ability to use any ability they manifested on the basis of strength, consistency, reliability, accuracy, capacity, and application. 

The ranking followed a listing of mountains by elevation, where Tenpo, the lowest registered mountain (at only 5 meters) when the listing had been created, reflected a mutant capacity low enough to be only just barely recognized as a mutancy while an Everest capacity reflected a mutancy strong enough that it exceeded measurable variables. In terms of a precog, a Tenpo reading would be considered only a bit more accurate than a general human having so-called 'gut feelings' about something. 

"Think she'll change his mind?" Logan questioned, ignoring the slight curve of Hotchner's lips at the tone of concern that he couldn't quite suppress. 

"No, I don't think so; Reid was trying too hard to convince us that it was what he wanted and to get our support. I realize his quick agreement could be misinterpreted as being weak-willed to an extent, but he's really not. If anything, Reid's prone to over-think decisions. If you asked him right now, he can probably list the exact probability to several decimal places of every possible treatment we could think of: trust me, he's not going into this blind." 

"Aside from that," Morgan chipped in, "Reid's a profiler and a good one, he's had your number since we first got here; plus the fact that you and Hotch aren't at each other's throats is something he'll trust, even if you didn't have the rest of our seals of approval."

Barely five minutes later, Jareau stalked out of the medlab and stopped at the door, commenting "He's ready for you," before she pushed out of the door and hurried away, the scent of salty tears, melancholy, and anxiety trailing in her wake.


	7. Appartenait a Logan

Spencer tried to settle his fingers into his lap in the 'placid' pose he remembered from his childhood that his mother had so often adopted when she was still able to fight her own anxiety. He couldn't hold them there for long though, as he waited for the others to come back in, and the slick, sweaty slide of his fingers across each other didn't help matters at all. He didn't need the rank scent of heat-induced sweat - un-tempered with pheromones meant to draw the attention of potential mates - to tell him that the fevers were rising again. 

A running count in the back of his thoughts told him that it had only been forty-seven seconds since J.J. had closed the door behind her, but it felt like the others were taking an interminably long time to return to the room. 

The flush of heat pouring off of him as he waited made it uncomfortable for any of his limbs to touch any other part of him, and he tried to hold his himself with just enough distance between his arms, legs, and other parts that it didn't feel like he was building up heat anywhere, but also with as little distance as possible to avoid looking any more ridiculous than he probably already did in the exam robe and socks. Thinking suddenly of his socks, Spencer quickly decided that as he was already in a medical bed and likely to stay there for at least a day, there wasn't any need for him to get up and the thick wool insulators could go. 

Dragging his knees up to his chest, Spencer grabbed the toe of each sock and pulled them simultaneously, wanting to get them off as quickly as possible, and not considering how the act would look until he heard a dry chuckle from the doorway. He stared up in shock, freezing with embarrassment as Mr. Howlette returned, alone, to the room. 

Surprisingly, as Mr. Howlette joined him at the bed and gently took the socks still dangling from each hand; his smile was amused but kind, and his gaze had a shade of something that somehow made Reid feel like he was holding back an expression of concern. 

"Heat gettin' to you kid?" 

This time his flush was from embarrassment as he dropped his gaze from studying the alpha's knowing eyes, but it would have been rude not to answer the man so Spencer nodded- a quick-jerky drop of his chin. 

"Well, Hank's gone to get your shot put together, n' Aaron's goin back to the guest houses; didn't want ta chance that we'd get caught up gettin' all territorial. The rest of them are waitin' outside, but didn't know if you wanted 'em ta come in or if you'd be wantin' your privacy for bein' bit."

Imagining Morgan, Garcia, and J.J. standing around watching him trying to stay still after bending over Mr. Howlette's lap and waiting as the older man's mouth to close around the back of his neck, even before he closed his teeth and broke the skin - made Reid shudder. The thought of how they would look at him after watching him willingly accept a bite deep enough to not only break the skin but reach the pheromone nodes that lay at the bottom of the scent glands made him cringe internally. 

It would have been one thing if it had been Hotch watching; being a feral, he'd probably wouldn't have assumed that Spencer was any weaker for the sight of his blood dribbling from Mr. Howlette's teeth and lips... even if he'd likely be prone to challenge Mr. Howlette - out of instinct- for making any kind of claim on a member of his team. The team, however, especially J.J. and Penelope would likely freak at the sight. 

"Stop thinkin of me as "Mr. Howlette", Kid; Name's Logan. Expect you to use it."

"But..." Spencer stammered, "How could you possibly know that?" 

Mr. Howlette... Logan just smirked at him and answered indirectly. "I ain't your Pa, and you're a grown adult, so it's too late to even try taken that role with ya; but you'll be pack, and pack's closer than "Mr's" 'n last names."

Feeling at a loss for any other response, Spencer stammered out a bashful, "Yes, Sir," causing Logan to snort in response. 

"That ain't any better; Looks like I'm gonna have to get Gumbo to take you down south for a couple o' weeks when you're feelin better. See if hangin round him can loosin you up some. Now, all stallin aside: you want your friends in here or not?"

Blushing uncomfortably as he turned back to his earlier thoughts, Spencer shook his head and bit his lip, not feeling comfortable enough to answer Logan with anything other than another 'yes, Sir,' which would his soon to be alpha would clearly not be pleased to receive. 

Mr. Howlette visibly sniffed, before shaking his head again, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, hitting number on the speed dial, and after a moment, almost growling into the phone: "Gumbo, I don't care how much you have in the pot, whose bed you're in, or whose lock your pickin' - drop what you're doin and get your ass back here, now, and before you balk, this ain't bout the team; it's pack-related." 

Smirking at him again, Mr. Howlette - Logan- tossed his phone up on the bed beside Spencer, commenting, "That'll get him here out of curiosity, if nothing else. Now..." then startled Spencer by sitting on the edge of the bed and scooting back slowly until his back was against the medical bed's bars.

"Before you let your nerves start talkin ya out of doin what's good for ya, let's just ease inta' this. This ain't the first time, for me; Remy wasn't claimed either, and feelin about as twitchy as you seem to be, but even though he was a mite older than you when we did the same, it worked right off for him. No reason to think it won't for you."

Spencer nodded again, realizing he must seem pathetic for his sudden silence, but nothing - literally nothing - was able to break through the haze of nervousness, anxiety, and anticipation that had fallen over his thoughts. Between the near constant undertow of statistics that had been running in the back ground of his thoughts - forwarning him that even though this provided his best option for treatment, the statistics were still heavily stacked against him - and the anxiety that always accompanied being touched - much less in such a personal way - he was almost glad for Mr. Howlette's sudden closeness- silencing all of Spencer's background thoughts in the awareness of how the alpha was barely inches away. 

A gentle hand came up behind Spencer's back and pushed gently on Spencer's shoulder, turning him toward Logan. Despite himself, Spencer jerked his eyes up warily, thinking he'd shown more composure and personality dealing with unsubs and serial killers and worrying that the older man was going to think of him as some pitiful little omega that had to be protected. If that was the case, there was a good chance he wouldn't let Spencer go back to the BAU, and Spencer suddenly wondered if it was worth taking the risk. The eyes that stared back into his though, were like Derek's so often had been, filled with understanding and kind, if amused. 

"It might not seem like it, but for all the mental work you're puttin into it, it's gonna be over and done in two shakes. Not sayin it won't hurt for a bit, but that'll go quick enough too, so here..." Logan reached behind Spencer to grab a pillow, which he pulled across his legs before patting the far end of the pillow. 

"Just lay your forehead here, Pup." 

It took Spencer longer than he'd like to admit - even to himself - and more of a struggle with himself than was strictly seemly to shuffle his legs around and fold himself over the pillow... and harder yet, to stay there, when he felt and heard Logan sniff softly at the back of his neck. 

"Easy there, easy. It'll just take a moment. Want to make sure that I'm getting the right glands. There... right there." 

Before Spencer could say anything to reassure the older man that he was okay and ready, four sharp points of pain speared him - freezing him in place as they threatened to cut straight through him. Intellectually, he knew that Mr. Howlette had no intention of hurting him... of snapping his neck or shaking it until his vertebrae separated paralyzing him... but in that moment, his heart sped with fear and the anxious tears he'd been holding back since before getting on the jet spilled over. Every instinct he had as a feral and a human was telling him that he'd become prey, and helpless to move, he submitted with a high pitched keen that rose in pitch as all of his breath left him and fell into a despairing sob on his last bit of breath. 

Then, Mr. Howlette did something completely unexpected. He made a sound that fell somewhere between a coo'ish whine, a growl, and a purr, telling Spencer in an instinctive undefined tongue that he was safe, protected, and welcomed.

Despite the teeth embedded in his neck, Spencer felt his muscles releasing tension, his lungs expanding more readily, and the arch of his spine softening as a hand began to stroke from the top of his shoulders to the lower middle of his back.


	8. La Meute - Fils Prodigue

Derek Morgan slipped back into the treatment room where Spencer had drifted back to sleep. His friend and team-mate had been drifting in and out of consciousness for close to three days, watched over by alternating members of their team and Logan. Even Hotch had taken a turn sitting by Spencer's bedside, changing the cooling cloths when needed, feeding him ice chips to keep him hydrated, and moving to stand beside Logan whenever Dr. McCoy came to check on Spencer's condition. 

Logan was always in the room, staying even when some of the institute's other staff repeatedly tried to persuade the man to take a break and rest. Surprisingly, by the end of the first day, the man's presence had become comfortable, at least for Derek, who quickly came to recognize the older feral alpha's emoted imprint as distinct though so incredibly simular to Hotch's. Despite their staunch, mostly-silent, and imperturbable almost detached-seeming manners, both alphas left imprints that radiated protective concern, acceptance, and inexhaustible patience. How they were managing to get along without the jockeying and posturing that seemed to occur so often at FBI headquarters, Derek didn't know, but they seemed to come to an unspoken agreement and left no traces of animosity or challenge in the rooms after they left. 

In fact, Derek had only detected any traces of conflict after J.J. left the room or following the very few times that Gideon spent time with Spencer. J.J. still hadn't gotten over her misgivings, and each time Derek had followed her into the room, her imprint of disturbed concern and distrust had been so thick that it had taken Derek a few minutes to settle in before he could even acknowledge the other man, who was radiating suppressed irritation. The man's reaction to Gideon was far more noticeable even though Derek had not been into the room directly after Gideon visited either time. 

Logan distrusted Gideon to the point of absolute disgust and both times the room had radiated his temper and distrust for hours afterward... while the only response Derek picked up from as Gideon was cool, emotionless detachment, which Derek somehow found the more disturbing.

This was Spencer they were sitting with, Gideon's supposed hand-picked protege, but Derek couldn't pick up even a single hint of worry. The man's shields were either frighteningly strong or he truly felt nothing, and Derek couldn't tell which. The distinction... now that he considered it... made him wonder whether he shouldn't have been more troubled by it before. 

With the types of cases that they had commonly dealt with, more often than not, Gideon's lack of imprint had almost been soothing for Derek, and something he had relied on after the cases where unsubs left so much of their imprint behind that Derek could deduce their motives and even on occasion their methods - often him emotionally gutted afterward - trying to reassert his sense of self with his mind feeling too entrenched in the unsub's mindset and far too ready to go to dark places he sometimes wasn't certain his soul could recover from.

No matter how gutted it left him feeling, though, he couldn't justify not going to the farthest extent of his skills and offering up every clue and detail he could to the investigation- even if it did leave him raw and oversensitive to every trace of emotion he was exposed to for days afterward. After those cases, Gideon's emotionless signature had seemed unintrusive and almost safer to his frayed senses than even Penelope's blanket of warm concern. 

Now though, as he watched Spencer begin to stir uncomfortably, beads of sweat rising to his skin the fiftieth or sixtieth time in his three day ordeal, Derek couldn't help but wonder why the older empath had spent so little time and shown so little concern for their youngest team member, whom they would have all presumed to be his hand-picked protege... when Logan - who'd barely known Spencer five hours before anchoring himself to Spencer's bedside, hurried to Spencer's side at the first sign of discomfort, talking to their friend and growling soft non-threatening comments like 'easy pup', 'settle, settle', and Spencer eventually relaxed. 

True to form, Logan was already pulling back Spencer's blankets to let off some of the heat building up from the return of the fever and squeezing out a fresh damp cloths for Spencer's forehead. 

"Easy pup." Logan answered Spencer's whimper, nodding his thanks when Derek moved out of the chair and pushed it between them so Logan could sit closer to the bed. "I know, you're miserable, but hang in there, just hang in. We'll get Hank in here, and see if he can give you anything to cool you down again."

Derek didn't need a teleprompter to read the order and hurried from the room, straight into an unfamiliar figure stalking up the steps beside Dr. McCoy... only narrowly avoiding losing his balance by catching the man's shoulder. 

"Je suis de sole, Bel Homme," The man grinned as he held out a hand to steady Derek as they stepped back from each other. 

"Agent Morgan, May I..."

"Sorry, Doc, introductions will have to wait; Spencer's spiking again, and Logan asked me to get you." Derek didn't mention Logan's desire to get a fever reducer, having heard the doctor refuse Logan more than once because he'd been worried about introducing any other chemicals into the mix as Spencers biochemistry adjusted to both Logan's claim as well as the hormone imbalances accompaning heats. 

"Remy..."

"Non, Logan called y', and it don't pay to ignore t' parran."

"Very well, but, don't think this is over, or that Logan won't agree with me." 

"Alhors Pas, Mon Ami." The man grinned again, pushing his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose just as Derek was noticing a stain of blue and grey and some swelling at the man's eyebrow.

"Agent Morgan, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like a moment alone with Logan." 

"Sure, Doc. I could use a coffee."

"Thank you for understanding. Could I impose please, and ask that take Remy with you, and ..." Dr. McCoy tilted his head and stared at the new arrival with a suggestive look, before half-ordering, "see that he returns, as well."

"Bleu, you wound me. Y' really t'ink I'd ignore a call from m' parrain. Non, a bon rein Ol' Remy'd be if he did dat." The other man answered favoring Dr. McCoy with a look of overplayed hurt and offense, despite the fact that Derek only read a comfortable feeling of fellowship, humor, and a tinge of gratitude from the man.

"Hunh-Huh," Dr. McCoy smirked back, "I know you well enough to know that you'd slouch off to charm some of the "femmes" for a bit until you think I'm done then try to slip in the room another way. The window, possibly? Or an air duct?"

"Never! For Bleu to say such tings. Non, Y' ..." 

"Cajun! Shut your trap. Hank, get your tail in here." Logan's irritated shout interrupted them and had them moving. 

"Oui, Mon Parrain." The young man called, his earlier humor quickly submerged as he grabbed Derek's elbow and pulled him along down the hall. "Come, Mon Ami, Remy'd be motier foux to loll around w' Logan bitin words like dat. Fit to make Remy cry, pauvre bete dat he is with his parrain growlin an grumblin n' all ... an not a bit happy to see him come running when he been called."

Smiling at the man's antics and the underlying traces of affection and concern as he allowed himself to be pulled away, Derek studied the man - adding Logan's yell of "Cajun", the man's self-deprecating manner distinctly at odds with his slick 'player' style leather overcoat, Brunello Cucinelli Gilet vest, Etro sportcoat, tailored Theory slacks and a ubiquitous long sleeve bright cobalt silk shirt that Derek would have pegged as a Varvatos if it werent for the unusual color, a classic fedora straight from a Sinatra movie, and generic if not dime-store pair of wrap around glasses. Between the man's blatantly expensive garb, his flamboyant manner, and the underlying tinges of his signature, it didn't take Derek very long to decide that what he was seeing was very carefully calculated camouflage. Not surprising, if 'Remy' was who Derek thought he was: the other feral mutant that Logan had claimed after the man had grown up - an unclaimed feral- probably on the streets - as even 'in the system' he would have been placed in a feral group-home and claimed. 

Feeling the man's edginess and anticipation rising as he was studied, Derek started to ask if he was 'the gambler' Logan had mentioned before, only to be interrupted when the man ran his eyes blatently up and down Derek's body, then grinned roguishly and bantered "Remy tinks you may be seein sometin you like, Oui? Maybe we both be seeing sometin we like?"

The attempt to distract him couldn't have been any more blatent and heavy-handed, but Derek didn't take offense; the man had no reason to expect or suspect that Derek could or would read beneath the surface nor any reason to expect friendship or charity from a 'Fed'. 

"Easy Player" Derek answered on a chuckle, drawing out his pronunciation to sound a bit like the 'cajun's' own vowel heavy accent and relying on mild pattern matching to encourage a feeling of familiarity from the man. "I was lookin, but that's not the reason. Just putting together a few descriptions to see if I could match you to anyone I've heard about since we arrived. You're the Logan's gambler friend from New Orleans?"

"Oui, Remy LeBeau be my name. Mes amis call me Remy, mes enemmies ... well, dey got anot'r name... Mais, if you call LeBeau, Remy'll answer... leastwise til we know we be friends, Oui?"

"I get that," Derek answered, and he did. It was the kind of answer he'd given when he was younger- one that didn't commit him to anything or offer a false sense of friendship, before it existed. 

"Remy tink maybe you do." LeBeau's tone and signature changed slightly to take on shades of curiousity and speculation, as he watched Derek with a dipped chin that just barely let a bruised brow and eyelid show between a fall of bangs: "Remy wait and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations :  
> Bon rein - a good for nothing
> 
> Je suis de sole. - I'm sorry.
> 
> Bel homme - handsome
> 
> Alhors Pas - of course not
> 
> parrain - godfather
> 
> motier foux - half crazy
> 
> Mes amis - my friends
> 
> mes enemmies - my enemies 
> 
>  
> 
> If I've missed anything here are my sources :
> 
> http://www.tech-faq.com/cajun-slang.html
> 
> http://sugiebee.blogspot.com/p/cajun-french-language-dictionary.html?m=1
> 
> http://pages.cs.wisc.edu/~jmeaux/cajundict.html
> 
> http://forum.truckingsim.com/showthread.php?tid=2630


	9. La Meute - Le Bon Fils

"Aaron," Logan greeted him without turning from watching Dr. McCoy examine Spencer. 

Taking a slow inhale, Aaron hesitated as he picked up traces of irritation and anger from the older Alpha's scent. Biting his teeth at the necessity, Aaron barely dropped his chin in deference. So far, he had maintained a comfortable, if unspoken, truce with Logan by deferring to the man's presence - at first to reduce any interference to getting Spencer treatment, then later, to reflect Logan's now 'adopted' role in Spencer's life. Thankfully, Logan had met him more than halfway in the attempt, and they had managed to get along almost amicably.

For Spencer's sake, he had hoped that wouldn't change, putting off asserting any authority with regard to Reid or anything else he might have challenged the older alpha on. But he'd known from the first that Strauss was going to try and use situation against both he and Spencer and that, at the most, they'd have two to three days to settle matters for Reid before the team would have to return to Washington, with or without Reid and Logan. 

"Whatever y'r chewin on, just spit it out, Aaron." Logan ordered with a growl, pushing off the wall and moving to stand between Reid and Aaron. 

It was a small, probably instinctive gesture on Logan's part, but Aaron couldn't help the instinctive bristle of challenge that ran up his spine and almost side-stepped Logan to challenge his possessive stance with Reid. 

While Aaron had never formally claimed Reid, due to Hailey's arguing that if he claimed Reid doing so would ultimately only hurt Reid more when Aaron was promoted or transferred to another department, he had --nevertheless-- always felt as possessive and protective of Reid as he did of Jack, Haley, and Sean and had never questioned the fact. Nor had Aaron ever deluded himself that - while he never let himself consider the exact nature of the relationship he felt, too deeply - he had been well aware that it was more than Reid's simply being a part of the BAU. 

"You lookin for a fight, Pup." Logan sneered, and Aaron had to bite his lips not to say yes. 

In truth, he did want a fight. Suppressing his instincts to take charge and protect his people, for three days straight, had been riding heavily on his nerves, and since having to hold his temper while listening to the veiled ultimatum from Strauss - his already stretched control had felt like a c-4 charge primed with nitro, ready to go at any moment, and inherently unstable. If Logan was going to goad him...

"I think you should know that I asked Mr. LeBeaux and Morgan to give us a few moments, before returning."

"Ya did, did ya?" 

"Yes, I did. Director Strauss is pushing for the team to return, with or without Reid on board, and refusing to accept his leave as being medical on the basis that the Xavier Institute is not a 'medical center recognized by the FBI. If the team returns without Reid, I am fairly certain that she's going to push for his dismissal."

"So, yer askin me to ship him off w' ya, still burnin' up, n' the claim not settled." Logan's growl and scent marked a rapid spike of the older alpha's anger. 

"No, I am asking that you," Aaron growled back, "Both of you," he added with a jerk of his chin to Dr. McCoy, "return with us. Penelope's confirmed that Dr. McCoy has privileges at George Washington Medical Center, which is 'recognized by the FBI'. If Dr. McCoy could make the proper arrangements for Reid to be received to their feral treatment wing on arrival, it could derail Strauss's attempt to fire him."

"N' yer plans for me are?" Logan's tone was no calmer, despite the explanation, and Aaron steeled himself for the start of a fight. 

"Whatever your plans would have been if we were to stay here. Don't intentionally misread my request; I am not trying to interfere or undermine your claim, Reid's health, or whatever form your 'relationship'..." he had to pause momentarily as the word struck him with a sense of discomfort, but pushed his surge of possessiveness back down, and continued, "will take, but if there's any chance at all, I'm going to do what I can to protect Reid's job. I haven't asked if you intended to let him keep his job, or if Reid wanted to fight for it if you demanded he quit, but barring that if he still wants his job, I want it to be there waiting for him. Reid is excellent at his job and an essential member of the BAU; I don't know if we would have the success rate we have withou..."

"Enough. Don't put that on him. I'm not gonna tell him he can't work or can't do the work he wants to, but I'm not gonna let you guilt him inta keeping tha' job if he doesn't want it. If doesn't want the job, find a replacement for him; I don't care if it'll take ten men to replace him, an it's for national security, I'm not lettin him be browbeat into whatever choice he makes."

Aaron managed a smile, despite the agitation stirring at Logan's brusk challenge, and nodded stiffly. 

"I wouldn't expect anything else." Aaron agreed.

"May I ask," Dr. McCoy interrupted, "why you feel that your director's efforts to dismiss Spencer would be successful?"

Backing away from Logan to look at the doctor, Aaron sighed and clenched his hands several times to release tension their discussion had fed. 

"I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that there has been growing antipathy in the FBI, toward mutants in general and ferals in particular. The teams with the highest number of mutants are also, unsurprisingly, the teams with the highest number of commendations and awards, but instead of recognizing the advantages of having blended or completely mutant teams, like the BAU, the powers-that-be are treating the situation as if having a mutation gives an agent an unfair advantage over his colleagues. Some of the most accomplished agents, with numerous commendations and years of experience are being summarily sidelined if their case completion rates drop to average completion rates, and when reviewed, these agents are being penalized on the grounds that a so-called normal completion rate must mean that the agent wasn't giving his 'all' for the job, or his mutation would naturally result in a higher completion rate. But that's only part of the situation..."

They stayed silent waiting, and Aaron hesitated to lay anything more out, but Logan, at the very least would need to understand, especially if it would affect his choice stand in place of Reid's parents. Pack bonds, whether the bonds of family or military or other circumstance, were -in most cases- for life, and Haley had been right about that, at least. If Aaron had bitten Reid, had claimed him, as he'd thought about more times than was strictly prudent, he could never have left the BAU, in good conscience, so long as Reid still worked there... and he suspected that Logan was of a similar nature, at least with regard to following through on his commitments, which meant that Logan needed to know about Hankel and Reid's struggle to cope with the experience and its after affects. 

"It's been ... a tough year .. for the team." Aaron finally admitted, "Reid and Morgan have probably born the brunt of it, but everyone's been through their own ordeals. In many ways, though, Reid is still only just recovering from an ugly case, six months back, that went very wrong. It ended up with the unsub turning the tables on Reid, taking him hostage, drugging and torturing him physically and mentally while filming it and live streaming it over the internet to warn 'innocents' of the sin of associating with 'beasts of the earth'. He tortured Reid for the express purpose of provoking a feral reaction to justify the execution he had planned for Reid. When that didn't work, he drugged him, then..." Aaron closed his eyes as he remembered the sight of Reid, concussed and strangling for his last breaths.

Logan's scent, heavily laced with tones of concern, anticipation, and understanding, drew Aaron out of the memory and to the present where he found Logan standing directly in front of him, an un-felt hand curled around his forearm, and his eyes searching Aaron's face, reading what he hadn't been able to say.

"Ya got there in time to revive him?"

"N-...n-o," it felt as if he was tearing something from himself to make the admission, exposing an unforgivable failure to people who couldn't possibly know the situation they had been in, how little they'd had to work with, and how deeply he'd regretted the lapse. Knowing he'd be judged for it, Aaron tried to step back out of Logan's space and twist his arm out of Logan's grip - hoping to distance himself before a verbal confrontation had a chance to turn physical, but the older alpha was intensely strong and had no intention of letting go - it seemed.

"Easy, Pup. I've been around long enough to know that even bein the best isn't always enough to get ye there on time. So the 'unsub' ye called him... he revived our boy?"

Aaron nodded, surprised and relieved, at the older man's unexpected understanding. 

"Hope that didn't keep you from putting a bullet between the crud's eyes."

"Reid did... through his heart, anyway... The unsub, Hankel, was forcing him to dig his own grave. Reid manipulated him into discarding the gun and taking his place to finish digging. Somehow, he managed to get gun away from Hankel and shot him ... but it was a good shoot." Aaron was quick to defend Reid's action, explaining "Hankel had a hunting knife and was going to attack him; in the condition he'd been in, there was no way Reid could have defended himself or otherwise gotten away."

"Course. In the long run, it's probably better it was him to do it. Won't leave him feeling like he can't defend himself, trying to think of something more he coulda done."

"No," Aaron disagreed, explaining, "There's something you need to understand about Reid," Aaron paused considering his words for several moments before he continued.

"Reid uses his intellect and interest in innumerable subjects to keep himself focused away from his emotions, which -in my opinion- he feels uncommonly deeply. On top of which, Reid has a perfect eidetic memory, which will not let him escape even the smallest detail of any violence he has suffered and forces him to remember every slight no matter how small or every injury no matter how devastating... The result of this is that to say Reid has an over-developed sense of compassion is a vast understatement. He is particularly prone to empathizing with both victims and, in some cases, even unsubs like Hankel, who suffered from a multitude of affective disorders... Similar to Reid's own mother. Irregardless of the danger or injury he has or will face, Reid ..." 

"Oh fer chrissakes, he's another one who doesn't give whit for his own safety if he see someone else in trouble, isn't he?" Logan interrupted, growling, almost huffily, his put upon tone, somehow the final key in breaking Aaron's tension. 

"If there were any accurate means of measuring that quality, Reid would score off the chart." Aaron agreed ruefully. 

"If it was, as you say, a so-called 'good shoot', I fail to see why you feel that your supervisor's push to dismiss Spencer should be successful." Dr. McCoy commented, unintentionally striking Aaron's nerves again. 

"It's what happened afterward," Aaron sighed, "Hankel had given him repeated doses diluadid cut with an unknown psychedelic... enough to seed an addiction... an addiction that, for a short time, he gave in to - trying to escape those memories. I don't think he ever managed to, even with the dilauded, and started going to NA meetings. He's been clean for two and a half months, but because of his mutant status, his attendance to the NA meetings were reported to HR. If I hadn't anticipated the possibility and filed a notification that he might start attending as a precaution due to Hankel's injections, she might have pushed it then, but probably couldn't have gotten too far as it was a reasonable treatment to an injury received in the line of duty. Given the current climate, other medical predispositions, and the suggestion that he is possibly prone to drug use, one more strike could very well be all she needs to get him out."

"I understand why you would have been reluctant to disclose Spencer's addiction; however, from the perspective of his doctor, I would have appreciated knowing of the possibility." 

"As you have told Mr. Howlette a number of times, Dr. McCoy, it is safer to not camouflage heat symptoms with opiates, narcotics, or other pain suppressants. Reid asked that I keep his privacy unless you were inclined to reverse this decision or felt the need to disclose it for other reason, as in the case of this conversation."

"Yes. I understand that; however, having a full medical history would have..."

"Done nothin," Logan cut the doctor off, reminding him, "You said it yourself, when it was Remy, so stop fussin, and go check if you can get Spencer in."

"And Remy?" The doctor questioned, "At the very least, he has a broken rib, and likely more, given how hard he was trying to avoid a check up." 

"One pup at a time," Logan answered with an irritated huff, but after a moment sighed, "get him in here before you go to gabbing with the hospital. I want him in here with Spencer while I'm in the danger room with this one."

"The danger room?" 

Logan turned back to Aaron at his question and grinned, "Noticed that did ya? Well, I noticed that ya didn't answer when I asked if ya were looking for a fight and figured after a couple of day's droppin' your chin and bitin your teeth, you're more than ready to blow off a little steam. Care for a bit of sparin'?"

Shaking his head at the unexpected question, Aaron decided that he'd probably gotten as much of an answer as he was going to get and responded honestly, "Hell, yes."


	10. Chasser en Meute

Logan barked out a surprised laugh as a tree limb grazed the back of his skull.

For the first time, in quite a number of months, Logan was actually being challenged. Not by Aaron's strength, although, the younger alpha was quite strong, even for ferals, nor in terms of speed, their first blows had quickly shown that Logan was the faster and stronger of the two men. Where Aaron was holding his own, and even, at times, excelling was in his imagination and ingenuity. 

After a mild hand-to-hand warm up, Logan had decided Aaron was in shape enough to run one of his milder, personal exercise scenarios - a hunt, to tap into the baser instincts the younger alpha had been suppressing most of the week. Deciding it was only fair play to take the role of prey and let Aaron work out some of the aggression he must have been stifling through the week, Logan had given the younger man a detail description of the circuit and a two minute head start to lay whatever traps and ambushes he might before Logan started his run. Two minutes, as it turned out, had been more than ample time for the agent. 

Aaron, it seemed had a talent for hunting and for anticipating the types of traps that Logan was most likely to detect, then laying traps within traps where Logan would open himself to one trap by trying to avoid the more easily discern able traps. With each trap slowing Logan down further and further, and giving the other man a chance to plan more elaborate and subtle traps, Aaron had been effectively stalling Logan's 'escapes' and would have likely exhausted his opponent - were it not for Logan's healing-enhanced stamina. As it was, Logan was beginning to suspect that he was being herded to a more complicated trap, which judging by the previous traps Aaron had sprung so far, might actually have the potential to 'capture' him.

Catching his breath with an amused glance at the still swinging tree limb, Logan counted the seconds between its swings and readied himself to lurch between them on the fourteenth second on the downswing of the first and second limb. 

"One, one, two, two, three, three, four, four," his count mirrored his matched heartbeat and breath rate until he reached "fourteen, fourteen," and he rose onto the balls of his feet, crouched to leap, and lurched forward as the heels of Scott's borrowed workout boots struck his back with the full force of Aaron's weight throwing him to the ground. 

He didn't stay down long, but pushed himself back up, and - turning right into the return swing of the limb - staggered briefly with the blow as it caught him on the chin. 

"Good shot, Pup. " Logan laughed, wiping blood from his already-healing chin. 

"Thank you," Aaron answered with a smug smile, as he dropped from the second swinging limb, landing lightly on the balls of his feet before launching himself into Logan's mid-drift and pushing him over a stand of piled stones. As they both went down, Aaron landed several more 'good' strikes, and - had Logan been the average feral - he had no doubt that Aaron would have successfully subdued him. 

Instead, as Logan suspected Aaron anticipated, and probably planned for from the start, Logan had Aaron on his front, his arms pinned behind his back and held in place by Logan's knee as the older feral growled a soft warning in his ear. Without contention, which - in Logan's mind - was as much of an admission as if he'd spoken the words, Aaron stopped fighting to free himself and turned his head to bare the back of his neck. 

Logan could appreciate the tactic: using the various traps and a well-orchestrated final attack, Aaron had gotten some of his own back, without potentially causing a rift between Spencer and Logan by over-challenging, antagonizing, or offending Logan.

Acknowledging the gesture with a quick nip and shake, Logan released his arms and rolled him over, easily catching a hand and pulling him to his feet.

"Good to know you've got the skills." Logan offered amiably and slapped Aaron's shoulder, winning a grin from the younger man.


	11. Un Meute Et Ses Chiots

Aaron wasn't only one shaking his head as the two alphas left the room less than a minute after Remy and Agent Morgan returned. 

Hank doubted that either pair of men noticed his amusement, though, when the two younger alphas postures shifted slightly toward challenging as they were introduced, but quickly dropped back into casual disregard at an irritated huff from Logan.

From the slight widening of Morgan's eyes, Hank thought the younger BAU agent might have noticed his superior's shift to deference... but probably not recognized what it meant. Hank wasn't certain that even Logan had recognized the shift in his treatment of Agent Hotchner from the general tolerance shown toward neutral/accepted outsiders to the amiable concern shown toward pack members. 

Then again, Logan's comment, "One pup at a time," before addressing Agent Hotchner's bottled up anxiety and aggression ahead of Remy's lack of self-preservation instincts - was fairly telling even if it was obvious that Agent Hotchner hadn't recognized the significance. The younger feral had been so focused on diffusing any irritation on Logan's part that he probably hadn't noticed the scent change either, a far more subtle clue that only another feral familiar with Logan would have probably noticed. 

Logan's scent had responded just the same way toward Remy after the bedraggled young man had been picked up 'off the battlefield', collapsing during a fight with Mr. Sinister and the Marauders - not from an injury delivered during their battle, but from over-exertion during the onset of his first heat. The Marauders on Sinister's orders had readily abandoned their teammate but neither Hank nor Logan had been as willing to disregard their so-called 'enemy's' suffering.

Whether the Marauders had either decided that the unclaimed alpha was not likely to survive the heat or simply that he had outlived his usefulness, Hank couldn't say, but the abandonment had only complicated matters for Logan and himself - even more than Scott's near refusal to allow the young alpha to be brought back to the Mansion - to anywhere other than a cell. 

When Remy had finally been stabilized enough for them to wake him and discuss his treatment options, the young man had expected nothing in the way of mercy - assuming his association with the Marauders had doomed him- and was more than reluctant to accept Logan's offer to claim him, unable to trust that that Logan could have any other interest in making the offer to than have leverage to hold over him - either to force information from him about the other Marauders, whom he no longer felt any loyalty to, but nevertheless was not prepared to betray - or to use Remy as a weapon against the Marauders or some other enemy. 

It took two days of intense-enough suffering that had even Scott feeling bad for Remy - to force the cajun to open up to the possibility of letting Logan claim him the same way he would later claim Spencer on the slim and - at that time - untested chance that it would give him any advantage over the heat, as it soon proved to do.

Two days of being coaxed, in as much as Logan ever coaxed anyone, suffering fevers that would have killed most mutants, much less most humans, and wracked by pain so intense that he tore the sheets with his grip as he writhed - finally wore Remy down. Though it hadn't softened Logan's attitude toward the younger alpha - despite his willingness to do what it took to save the boy's life; throughout, he had treated Remy with as much and as little familiarity as he treated any of the schools other residents: moderate concern and frequent exasperation but not with true regard, at least not at first.

In fact, it was ony after Remy had been broken down by the pain and fevers enough he agreed to discuss Logan's offer, but had not accepted it until he'd negotiated the exact detail of how much and how little control that Logan could exert over him, securing promises that Logan would never require him to do hurt or fight, lead anyone else into a fight that wasn't for their own protection, provide names for anyone who might, or stand down when he could protect someone who needed or asked for his protection - that he had unknowingly began to make headway in Logan's regard. Outside of those few limitation, Remy hadn't laid any other boundaries, but stood firm on those details, even when Logan challenged him curious to see if Remy meant them or was using them as a gambit to camouflage his true nature and intentions. Remy's refusal to back down... even as another round of fevers had him shaking with chills and Hank pumping fluids into him in multiple pints... won Logan over, almost immediately changing the older alpha's scent and manner towards the cajun to the same that he was responding to Agent Hotchner with... namely extending pack status whether the younger alphas were ready to accept it or not. 

It had taken Remy close to two years, with Logan showing up unannounced to deal with situations Remy had gotten himself into that Logan only knew of by keeping a close ear on the grapevines from whatever area that he knew or suspected Remy might be in or soon show up at, before Remy finally accepted that Logan wasn't just waiting to call in favors. He was still wary around Logan and only visited the school when word got out that Logan had been hurt or in trouble, but it was a start and a connection that both openly acknowledged, which in and of itself was remarkable, considering the men involved. 

Somehow, despite Agent Hotchner's so-far-flawless deference to Logan, Hank suspected that the pack bonding wouldn't go any easier with the agent than it had with the gambler, but then Logan never chose the easy routes... Speaking of which...

Hank watched Remy shift against the wall to ease the pressure his no-doubt bruised ribs and shoulders for the tenth of fifteenth time before he finally cleared his throat and froze the cajun in place. 

"You already know that Logan's going to agree with me and order you to hold still for a check up. Don't you?"

"Oui," Remy agreed with sly expression, "Mais, himself ain' say it, yet, so..."

Shaking his head again, Hank sighed again speaking under his breath both to the cajun and the absent older Alpha, "My friend. Will you ever do things the easy way?"


	12. Cri de Courre

Jennifer "J.J." Jareau leaned into the window frame as she stared out at the grounds of the Xavier Institute, trying as much as she could to ignore the oddly dressed man leaning in the corner, who seemed to be trying his best to be noticed; although, he had, for the most part, given up trying to charm her after she had mentioned that she was very close to "William La Montaigne".

Will had given her a pretty detailed background on Mr. LeBeau, and asked her to pass along her greetings, mentioning that both he and his father were on a little better than civil terms with the LeBeaus, despite the father being involved in what sounded like organized crime, but Will referred to as a 'guild', using a phrase that she was beginning to get very tired of: "It's just a Nawlins's thing." She didn't care that they all went down to 'Johnny's' in the bottoms for po'boys; inferring any form of frendship or affiliation with criminal elements seemed reckless to her, so - beyond mentioning that she knew Will - to imply, correctly, that she might know more about him than he would be strictly comfortable sharing, she had refrained from any other comment to him. 

Twisting her sister's pendant subconsciously as she dwelt on her earlier conversation with Will, J.J. hadn't noticed when the speed of her hand sliding the pendant back and forth picked up becoming almost frenetic as the loop on the pendant started to make zipping sounds each time it ran up and down the chain. 

zip. zip. zip. zip.

zip. zip. zip. zip. 

zip. zip. zip. zip. 

~~~

Remy did his best to ignore the waves of ignorant antipathy the woman was passively directing at him, recognizing the underlying shades of fear and worry for her near-comatose friend. Shifting silently to ease the pressure on his bruised ribs, Remy sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his head back. 

"Chere, won' ye please take a chair? Tween your spark and that necklace zip, zip, zippin', you have ol' Remy's head fit to burst." 

"My spark?" She questioned, finally turning from the window, curiosity overriding the previous coldness that she'd favored him with since coming into the room. 

"Oui, Chere, Remy be like ton ami Ag'n Morgan, n' be readin when ye spark n' when ye be pushin it down deep."

"You're an empath?!?" the blonde demanded, sounding indignant, "how can you be a thief and do what you do, knowing how it hurts the people you steal from, how violated they feel as a result of your greed?"

"Allez! C’est pourri what you say to Remy. Remy has tried his best to be polite to ye, even tho ye haven't shown Remy de same, mais j’en ai marre, t’sais? Not dat ye got any right ta be askin, but as y'r a friend of tha pup, I'll tell you something about Remy. Tief tho he be, he never take a thing dat people care for, non, nor from any dat can't afford it." 

"As noble as you might like to think that sounds, it doesn't change the fact that you and your father are criminals, living like parasites off the labor of others."

"Non, Chere, il ne faut pas mettre tout dans le même sac! Ye don't even know..."

"I know enough, and I know right from wrong, so no matter how you try to justify it, don't expect me to buy that it's just a 'Nawlins thing'. That won't work with me."

"Remy don't remember askin fo y'r approval, him'self. All he asked was fo ye to take a chair, n spare po' Remy's head from y'r zippin n' sparkin."

The blonde sparked again, in conjunction with a sharp pique of irritation directed at him, that had Remy gripping his forehead and dearly wanting to toss a charged card at the wall beside her just to break her attention. He didn't get the chance to think of a better idea, however.

"Pl-e-a-s-e." A quiet rasp interrupted their argument. 

"Spencer!" The blonde's shriek was loud enough to hurt Remy's ears and draw a whimper from the pup. "You're awake!" 

"Oui, et everyone else who be in de house be, too, Remy tink." Remy muttered twisting his finger in his ear dramatically. 

"J.J. p-l-e--- P-l-e-a-s-e," it came out as a pained whimper. The younger man broke off, blinking rapidly, his lips pressed together and trembling before a second whimper broke. 

"What is it? What can I do?" The blonde sent Remy a dark glance. "Just tell me. Reid! I'll do it."

"Me tinks he can't." Remy supplied, suddenly aware that the pain he'd felt from her powers sparkin hadn't just been his own. "Best get Doc for de pauvre bete."

"Why don't you?" she snapped at him letting him feel her dislike for his presence clearly.

"J.J." The pup gasped again his pain evident in his voice. 

"Fine!" She shot to her feet and stormed out, leaving them both groaning with her last emotion-laden spike. 

"Tu t’en sors bien?" Remy finally whispered when she was far enough away that the feedback he was getting from the pup dropped away significantly, and he was able to feel where his own shields had dropped enough to feed the effect. 

Clenching his eye's shut, Remy's new packmate shook his head, groaning "Hurts. Please... your shields."

"Aye, Pup. Tryin to get 'em back up." Remy answered wearily, trying to pull his shields back together and shut the other man's pain and feedback out. Normally, he could do it with the ease of taking a breath, without thought or effort, but that ease had disappeared and Remy was forcefully reminded of his youth when his powers were just beginning to manifest, with only limited control.

ブレンキン

"Agghhh," Spencer groaned, biting his lip to fight the pain, as he tried to figure out how to construct mental shields of his own.

He'd never tried to before, believing that they weren't needed especially after both Derek and Gideon had confirmed the complexity of his intellect and precisely structured system of recall acted provide a buffer limiting the impact of his emotions to a negligible effect that they were able to ignore as needed or desired. He couldn't understand why he would need to now: he had read extensively about the various treatments for unclaimed ferals and nothing he read had ever suggested any increase in empathetic or power-manifestation sensitivity (if that was what he'd felt with J.J.). Whatever it had been, it had not felt strictly emotional, or at least not in a way that he identified emotional... 'feels', but Spencer knew that he had absolutely no skill in reading emotions, so it could have been. 

Still, thirty-seven percent of first heats for unclaimed omegas resulted in severe neurological insult to a degree affecting activities of daily living, so it could be a symptom of brain injury, but the information on these injuries was incredibly limited by a multitude of factors including the omega's desire for anonymity, the healthcare provider's lack of interest and/or poor interview techniques, and subsequent communication disorders. As a result, Spencer had no reference to decide whether the pain he felt was the consequence of a neurological injury, and if it was, how bad it was or whether it was severe enough that he was going to lose his place on the team. The thought was not precisely terrifying in that it didn't stir up what he recognized as fear, but at the same time, the was horrendous and indefinably negative to him. 

Being forced off of the team would mean that he was completely alone: something that he had never been before. When his father left, he'd at least had his mom. When Spencer had been forced to commit his mom for her own safety while he was at school, he'd had a supportive roommate, his professors and an advisor who all seemed to care, and Ethan, his not-quite boyfriend. Even before he'd left college, he'd been recruited by the FBI, and soon after joined the BAU. Even though Mr. Howlette had supposedly claimed him, he didn't think he would truly be welcomed by Xavier or the x-men, due to his ties to the FBI and Gideon, and even if Mr. Howlette decided that he wanted Spencer around, it probably wouldn't be enough for him be willing to leave the x-men, not that Spencer would ever have asked him to... which meant that Spencer would very likely be on his own. Worse, being alone and identified as a mutant... that was a thought that frightened him. 

Spencer's distraction with the pain and possible damage causing it - as well as the possible consequences - kept him from focusing on putting together even a weak semblance of shields... so he wasn't prepared for the influx of overwhelming agony that accompanied the arrival of J.J. and his team, Dr. McCoy, the stranger who'd been sitting with him, and a wheelchair-bound man he hadn't been introduced to but knew was Xavier from the FBI's files on the professor.

The pressure of their powers seemed to explode in his mind and ripped a scream from him that quickly turned into a howl of terror as his mind all but shut down to his most primitive state. 

At once, Aaron, Logan, and Remy -their most protective instincts triggered by Spencer's howl- turned on the others, ordering them out, and backing the order up with aggressive stances and gestures (and unsheathed admantium claws in Logan's case). 

Spencer was far past hearing, however, as he slipped in to unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trannslations:
> 
> Il ne faut pas mettre tout dans le même sac! -  
> It's not the same; literally 'Do not put everything in the same bag.' In this case, not all 'criminals' are the same.
> 
> Allez! - Enough!
> 
> C’est pourri - this is rotten.
> 
> mais j’en ai marre, t’sais - but I'm fed up, you know
> 
> tu t'en sors bien - you are doing well or better
> 
>  
> 
> If I've missed anything here are my sources :
> 
> http://www.tech-faq.com/cajun-slang.html
> 
> http://sugiebee.blogspot.com/p/cajun-french-language-dictionary.html?m=1
> 
> http://pages.cs.wisc.edu/~jmeaux/cajundict.html
> 
> http://forum.truckingsim.com/showthread.php?tid=2630


	13. Mutation

Penelope Garcia stumbled backward down the hall, watching the doorway that she and her teammates had just been forced to abandon as both Gideon and her own personal sweet-chocolate divinity had reported that their proximity to Reid was keeping the three alpha ferals on high alert. 

More alarming, yet, and Penelope was already highly alarmed, was Derek's announcement that while he had returned to consciousness, their presence was actually causing Reid pain... a detail bourne out by the fact that she could now hear him weeping as pitifully as a new born kitten still wet from its first bath. 

Intently watching Derek's expression for any sign that they could stop backing away, Penelope initially missed the change in Reid's vocalizations from whimpers to weeping to soft groans finally to soft words... until Reid cried out weakly, "Garcia!"

Penelope started to rush back down the hall, but stumbled to a stop when Derek stepped into her path with an apologetic, "Sorry, baby girl. but their tempers are running high back there."

"He's calling me!" she protested 

"I know, Garcia, but..." Derek trailed off Reid called again, and she pulled out of his grip.

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She was barely through the doorway, before Hotch, Mr. Howlette, and Mr. LeBeaux were at the door blocking her and growling at her. Hotch's was the softest of the three, but his growl still had a tone of menace.

"Please..." Spencer whimpered, "I need her help."

Hotch hesitated, growling something to Mr. Howlette that Penelope couldn't quite decipher despite the fact that it sounded almost English, but she took a step back in any case - hoping that the small step back would make her seem less of a threat. Lord knows she'd never intentionally hurt her junior g-man. 

Howlette's brows raised slightly as his sharp eyes scanned her, before he noticeably sniffed the air in her direction, but while his growls toned down slightly, they didn't stop until Penelope took a chance - hoping that she wouldn't seem patronizing - and tilted her head in a way she'd seen Reid and other ferals in their office do when on several occasions when Hotch had seemed out of sorts.

A soft, amused bark broke their tension, and Penelope froze in curious surprise as Mr. Howlette stepped right up into her space. His movement was not quite aggressive, despite the growl, but even Penelope could tell his stance was pure alpha positioning. She might have been tempted to take another couple of steps back if it weren't for the growing look of relief on Reid's face... And the fact that the blades protruding from between Mr. Howlette's knuckles were starting to retract. 

Instead, holding perfectly still, she watched him with widening eyes as his face pressed bare centimeters from her own and his nostrils flared, clearly taking in her scent again. His nose and lips traced a slightly oblong circle over her face, letting her catch the barest glimpse of the tips of his prominent canines as he finally spoke, "Hon, I should tell ye: if ye were a feral and knew what ya were offering, my teeth would already be at that pretty little nape of yers, but I think the pup needs yer attention more right now."

He smirked when Penelope blushed as his words and pressed a soft kiss just to the left of her temple before releasing her. For all her playful banter, blatent, often overly-suggestive flirtations with Derrick, Penelope couldn't remember ever feeling so... effected... by such simple innuendo and blushed again, glancing away from the man's bright knowing eyes and actions which sent a ripple of shivers down her spine.

Turning to Reid, who - though clearly still in pain - was blushing with a sympathetic expression that was just too sweet, Penelope couldn't help but smile at his obvious innocence. Judging from LeBeaux's soft chuckle and amused expression, Penelope wasn't the only one who thought so, but her amusement was almost immediately brushed away as she noticed how much his blush stood out against the overall pallor of his skin and the sheen of sweat that was spreading from his forehead and cheeks.

"Oh Honey, what can I do?" She asked, rushing to his side - barely noticing as she pushed the other two men aside to get to him (Hotch having already moved out of her way).

"I need to know how you filter without being overwhelmed when you connect to the net. How do you deal with all of it? How do you thin out the stream or parse it down so it doesn't hurt so much?" Reid's voice trembled as he answered drawing the protective clutch back to his bedside as well. 

"Oh Sweetie," Penelope sighed sadly, knowing all too well the pain he was going through.

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_The very first time Penelope connected to the net using her mutation had happened as a complete accident while she was trying to hack into a bar's ordering system - more than half drunk - to erase the bill she and her friends had been running through the evening. At sixteen, Penelope had found her mutation -in turns- alienating, terrifying, and exciting. Most of the time, Penelope resisted the urge to explore what she could do with tech, at least whenever others were around, especially when she went to a school where the only group lower on the social rungs than loners were mutants, but that night her state of inebriation took the decision out of her hands._

_The system had been easy enough to hack, but she hadn't anticipated that the bar chain had been one of the early adopters of cloud storage, and their bill wasn't stored locally. At first everything seemed normal, but following the traces of the bill suddenly became more than an intellectual challenge of translating and manipulating code. Without noticing the change she more than spoke, thought, and typed code - she felt it, followed the flow of it, and interacted with it as easily as if she were speaking with another person. It was enthralling, and buoyed by the alcohol, Penelope didn't hold back when she felt as if her connection to her body was being stretched like an out of body experience._

_Unprepared for the vastness of the web, though, Penelope had quickly reached her limits, and her overloaded synaptic system snapped her back when she could no longer support her search - causing her to pass out in the middle of the bar._

_Her so-called friends freaked and left her there believing that she'd over-dosed or had alcohol poisoning. The bar owners, believing the same and realizing she was a minor, paid a bouncer to drop her off at a hospital halfway across town. Checked in as a comatose Jane Doe, Penelope finally woke a week later to the sound of her mother crying and the worst headache she'd ever suffered._

_She had been grounded for three months, after that, which suited her just fine. Having no interest in the friends who had left her behind without a second thought and an almost transcendental memory of her experience on the web, Penelope was only too happy to come home to her computer and try to recapture the experience... Not realizing that the alcohol had done as much to buffer her from the overload of data streaming through the web as it had to lower her inhibitions._

_She quickly learned that the headache she had woken up with in the hospital could feel like a small blip by comparison of the headaches spawned by her attempts to tame the web to her bidding, but the feeling of her first search had been indelibly etched in her memory, and she was determined to recapture the experience._

_Eventually she did, about a month and a half after she graduated from 'hell'-high, but it wasn't by using some sort of method. She had only learned how to ignore the mind numbing abundance by diving into it, learning what gave her headaches and avoiding those things in the later sessions._

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'Sweetie, I wish I could tell you, I really do, but it's not that easy. I don't have a method." Penelope leaned in, straightening his blanket, and took a little half-hop so she could sit on the bed beside him and brush his sweat-laden hair out of his face. "When I was starting out, I just kind of 'jumped in the deep end' and learned how to stay afloat with all of it. Derek could probably tell you how to shield so whatever you're picking up ..." 

"Chere," Mr. LeBeaux interrupted, holding out his smartphone, "Can dis thing be o' use fo' ye to take y'r spark to?"

"Quoi faire?" Penelope asked why.

"Chere, ya sweeten our tongue by it's use but mo chagrein we have non t' time to tawk. Our pup, t' pauvre bete, I t'ink he be readin' y'r sparkin de way ol' Remy n' ton ami Morgan readin de bits de Courre. Mais, if ya take y'r spark to dis, Remy, he thinks dat de pup maybe can read it, Oui? And learn from it dat way."

"That's brilliant," Penelope gushed excited to think that she could teach Reid enough to stop the pain her team's presence was causing him, but turned to Mr. Howlette to ask, "Is it okay?" just in case. 

"Pup?" Mr. Howlette questioned, but Reid's hopeful expression was all the answer he needed to flick a permissive 'go-ahead' gesture to Penelope, who unlocked the phone Mr. LeBeaux already had in her hand. 

It took barely three seconds to open the browser and find an accessible platform to launch her foray into the net, but something was off with her connection... It was a live link, but though active, it acted as if it was off; it wasn't opening to her. She was just typing. The ebb and flow of data, her zing when she moved through it, the space between that always seemed hungry for her code... was numb. For the first time, in close to ten years, Penelope couldn't feel it, couldn't manipulate it... she couldn't connect to it. 

Penelope was so caught up in panic and claustrophobia of being cut off from the net, the ocean of energy and code and patterns that she could no longer commune with - tied down in her body, that she hadn't noticed the feeling of tears running down her cheeks, Reid's distressed whine, nor the other's concerned expressions as they helped her into a seat and took LeBeaux's his phone back. 

"It's gone," she sobbed, bereft and drowning in her sense of disconnection.


	14. Secret Ne Sont Demeurés

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did mention badly written cajun and folk dialects, didn't I?

"Non, Cherie, Non. Don't fret. Ol' Remy can feel de pup's teef on de coon tail. Himself 'll have it treed soon." Remy tried to console the crying woman and make her smile with a bit of overdone backwoods phrasing. He knew his words were true, despite not knowing why they were true, and because of it didn't have any other assurance he could give without using his charm, which didn't seem to be working as well as he'd like at the moment.

It was a confidence that he felt coming off the poor pup, but even as he thought it, he realized that he was 'path-ing again - to a small extent at least- picking up and reading the others' emotions.

The pup gasped, "Please, Penelope, try it again."

The pauvre bete was pale as milked grits and covered in a sweat thick enough to see, but Remy could feel his spark shaping up and bending to the pup's will, if not his whim. But what a spark it was.

Remy didn't know, himself, if anyone else had figured it out yet, but he thought he had... and if he was right, the pauvre bete was in for a heap of hassle both from the bibittes who would be wanting him to use it for their whims and the pue tans who would be wanting to stop him from using them at all.

"Cherie, go on now, an take y'r spark to dat again. Remy, he thinks dat de pup maybe can almost be reading it now. Let him have 'n 'nother go and his teef 'll be sunk in for sure."

Remy couldn't fault her for having her doubts as she wiped her eyes, sniffed, and blinked back at the pup with worried eyes. Not being able to feel the sparkin the way Remy could, she only had his looks to go by, and they were not inspiring. Pressing his phone back into her hand, Remy closed her hand around it, and gave her the slightest bit of a push of his charm that he could muster until the pup got his teeth into the problem and started chewin on it.

"Go on, Cherie, trust ol' Remy, he don't want you cryin fo nothin."

Nodding her head, clearly reluctant, Ms. Garcia turned her gaze back to her phone, and this time Remy felt her spark when it connected. It was a small spark, barely the reflected glimmer of a fire-fly shining off a dry blade of grass, but it was there, and it brought a weak smile to teary eyes.

"Again, please," their pup asked sounding a bit stronger. His complexion still looked about as healthy as clabbered cream, but their third attempt brought real progress, and both Remy's senses and his sense of her spark came easy. From there, Ms. Garcia took over, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside the younger man and discussing what she felt when she was channelling and what he was feeling. That was just fine with Remy, though.

Before they let anyone else in the room, they were going to have to decide on just who counted as Spencer's pack, and who were the one's they'd keep the out of the loop about the pauvre bete's powers. Stepping away from the two, no question in his mind as to whether or not Garcia was pack or not, he shifted his stance and hunched his shoulders the slightest to draw his parrain and Aaron to the edge of the door with him - keeping visible enough to warn off any in the hall, but far enough away that neither the outside watchers nor the other two in the room hear much of what they said.

Logan glanced at the other two with a relieved look that probably only Remy and Hank knew how to read before he gestured for Hotchner to join him and Remy with a tilt of his head. Surprising Remy again, the agent obeyed Logan's silent command without question and closed in on Remy's other side seeming to recognize the need to speak in close quarters.

"What's goin on Gumbo?" Logan questioned after a moment, adding to Remy's surprise when he didn't have to talk over the fed to ask.

"Remy be thinking we need to keep a lid on the boy's new powers."

"New powers?!?" Hotchner finally interrupted with a startled question. "We knew he was finally manifesting as a feral, but a new power. I don't remember Dr. McCoy even suggesting it."

"All the better, to Remy's mind. He's got two of dem; Remy felt em, but not any dat a sane man or beast would want."

"Christ, Remy, what did you read?" Logan demanded taking his announcement at face value, with a gruff but resigned tone.

"He's like Jimmy, but stronger, he did it without even thinking about it, just on instinct."

"Jesus Christ," Logan cursed again, in tone if not words, almost biting through the unlit cigar. "And the other?"

"The pup can learn himself to mimic the power like he's doing with Ms. Garcia right now. Not taking it like Roguie or Cal, but learning it, and from how it feels, Remy don't tink he'll be forgetting how to use what he's learnin."

"That is troubling," Hotchner agreed, before explaining, "not with concerning how he'd use them; Reid is the most moral person I have ever met, but having the ability to mimic powers- I can see how that could make him a target, but what's the other? I don't remember being introduced to a Jimmy."

"Naw, pup," Logan agreed. "We don't introduce him to anyone not staying here long term. Jimmy's tag is Leech; he can damp the powers of anyone in a fifteen to twenty foot radius given the right circumstances. Magneto want's to off him for it, and the military ... and a few others want him so they can put it to their own uses. The FOH even wants him; they tried to use some of his dna to make a 'cure' for mutancy."

"Fifteen to twenty..." Hotchner murmured, but they didn't need to ask what he was thinking. Without even trying the boy had shut down the others at close to twice that range. It might have even been more, but Remy couldn't read further than that. Thankfully, no one seemed to be in the mood to use their powers at the moment, as they were waiting for the three alphas to calm enough that Hank could go back in the room.

"Yep." Remy answered, before challenging, "My question for you is dis: your team acts like pack, but who's pack and who's just team. Who do you trust with our boy's life, cause it's gonna take more dan Logan and Ol' Remy to watch his back when dis comes out."

Remy was willing to accept Logan calling the other man 'pup'; he trusted the old man enough to trust the fed at his and Logan's backs was one thing, but trusting the fed to protect their newest pack member or any other of their pack was a different matter entirely, and one that depended largely on what Hotchner was willing to do to protect their youngest.

"We can't let it leave this room. I'll talk to Penelope, but despite how she acts, she can keep a secret." Hotchner argued, and Remy felt himself relaxing his stance a bit. He'd half-expected the man to blather something about needing to tell their 'superiors' but trying to keep it from going public.

"Everything gets out, Pup." Logan answered before Remy could, "We just need to know who to trust at our backs when it does."


	15. Adsumptio

By the time Garcia had assisted Spencer in refining a mental-shield of some sort, (Aaron would have to ask her to explain it later), he, Logan, and LeBeau had come to an agreement as to who would but, more importantly, who wouldn't be told of Reid's newly manifested power.

The list was short, shorter even than Aaron had expected, but longer than Aaron would have chosen if given the choice: Garcia, who likely had already figured the truth out; Morgan, who was frequently partnered with Reid and whom Aaron knew would put doing what was right before doing what was required by the job; and Dr. McCoy, both as a trusted friend to Remy and Logan alike and as Spencer's personal physician.

Emily, by contrast, while she also frequently partnered with Reid, was no stranger to secrets and would ultimately understand why they had decided not to reveal the depth of Spencer's abilities. Jennifer wouldn't, but her tendency to adhere to and judge others her in light of her family's social norms or alternately the bureau's unspoken culture could prove problematic on several fronts. Then there were Gideon and Strauss, excluded for essentially the same reasons: personal agendas. Surprisingly, at least to Aaron even though Reid shifted uncomfortably at the announcement that they wouldn't be sharing their discovery with Gideon, he agreed without comment, which caught Aaron off-guard, but was decidedly something to be discussed later.

That decision made, Aaron left Spencer, who appeared to be resting comfortably now, in Garcia's care as she rambled about the different students and teachers she'd met around the school, intent on going back to the office that Professor Xavier had loaned them to make arrangements for their return to Washington.

Logan had other plans, however, and caught his arm, with a nod to the side that sent LeBeau out.

"He's gonna get Hank, n' only Hank. Anyone askin' about the pup, he'll tell 'em that the boy was just overwhelmed by the feedback of his 'woken up' feral senses. Claimin' an adult pup's rare enough none of 'em can say otherwise." Logan answered before Aaron could get further than "Mr. Howlette".

"You an' I need to talk."

The phrase immediately put Aaron on edge, wondering if the confrontation he'd been trying to put off for days was finally imminent. Really, it was only to be expected; feral alphas were incredibly territorial and the conflict between Spencer's role on the team and the natural instincts that Logan would have to be feeling toward a newly claimed pack member would only agitate that territorial instinct. Aaron couldn't even promise the other feral that he wouldn't be partially usurping Logan's authority when they were on the job by sending Reid -willingly or not- into life-threatening scenarios.

"Yer one to overthink aren't ya?" Logan questioned, his eyebrow raised and eyes glinting with amusement. "It ain't nothin' to worry about just a bit of somethin' that needs settlin' between us and nothin' to come to blows about, unless you need another round in the 'danger room'?"

"No, no." Aaron replied quickly, trying to ignore the feeling that he was being condescended to.

"Good. That's good. Now, Ms. Garcia, you'll take good care of our pup, won't ya?" Logan asked the Garcia warmly.

"Of course, I will." She answered with a half-affronted, half-amused tone, turning to shoot the older man a glance that wasn't all glare, softened as it was by the light flush on that dusted her cheeks.

"Good Girl," Logan answered, causing her embarrassed flush to deepen, before turning back to Aaron, "Come on, you. Doc's got another private office down this way, where he does his deep thinking and the kids know not to bother him unless there's a real emergency. It'll give us some privacy there. "

"Okay," Aaron agreed, trying to reconcile Logan's behavior and anticipate what arguments he'd need to have ready for their discussion. Despite his degrees, years of experience in front of juries, and the variety of strategies he'd needed to speak with victims, bystanders, and criminals alike, Aaron was not at all prepared for the question Logan posed as soon as he closed the door to the doctor's private office behind them.

"Is your sire still in the picture?"

"What?" Aaron asked startled by the completely out of the blue topic.

"Ya heard me. From what I've been seein', I'm thinkin' the answer's no, and your scent doesn't suggest you've been around pack anytime recently, but I wanted to be sure before askin' this."

"Asking what?" Aaron bit out, feeling slightly defensive. His relationship with his family and pack, shouldn't have any conceivable impact on Reid's involvement in Logan's pack.

"Thought not," Logan answered taking Aaron's non-answer as a confirmation of some suspicion. "Ok, here's the way I see it. You tell me if I'm right or wrong. This group of yours isn't a standard team. I've been on enough of them, myself to tell the difference. You got a mix of mutants here, and sure, they ain't all ferals, but they're pack, yours an' his. An you're pretty much the alpha of that pack. Hold it!" Logan held up his hand when Aaron opened his mouth to protest. "I ain't trying to start a pissin' match. What I am tryin' to do, though, is make sure that boy has his pack, whether or not that ... woman, Strauss, manages to take his job or not... an' that starts with you. "

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"No, I don't guess you would, and I don't mean no harm by it; just saying you probably haven't dealt with many packs in a social sense. You have the bearing of a lone alpha. Not a rogue mind you, but one that well, let's not mince words, you weren't raised close with your alpha and pack, were you?"

"No." Aaron admitted, still not entirely sure where Logan was going with his assessment, but open to answering if it would help ease the way with Spencer.

"Ok, this little FBI pack of yours and Spencer all see you as Alpha, and before you try to argue it, you should know, it doesn't trouble me at all. Packs can have more than one alpha, without tearin' themselves apart, and that's what I'm proposin'... that you join my pack."

"I... that..." Aaron fell silent, astonished. It had been the last thing that he had expected... or would have been if he had been able to conceive of the concept.

"Look. The pup needs and wants his pack close, an' that's gonna include me an' Rem' from now on, but I'm damn sure that there wouldn't be a chance in hell of us gettin' on your team. Now, if we flipped it and you and any of the others open to join up with mine, well most any of the others. Now, that'd be another story, wouldn't it? There's nothin' that Strauss or the others could do to prevent him from seeing his pack, is there?"

It was a surreal plan, but Aaron couldn't really argue it. One of the few protections that pro-mutant lobbyists had managed to get passed, before public sentiment turned against mutants, were legislations protecting pack 'sanctity'- preventing businesses, institutions, and public bodies forcing pack members to isolate themselves from association with other pack members, except in circumstances where the associating pack member were serving a conviction or parole for a conviction on a charge of a class A felony. Even the bureau would not be able to force Aaron and the others not to associate with Spencer if he was pushed out; although he had no doubt that their careers could and likely would be neatly curtailed for doing so. This was Spencer, though, and Aaron had no doubt that most of the team would as gladly pay that price as he would.

It would have to be a 'formal' pack-claim, though, to qualify, and at that thought, Aaron's eyes jerked up to Logan's to find the man smirking.

"Yep. That's exactly what I'm talking about... if you're willing."

Aaron was speechless, but when Logan lifted his hand and gestured for him to come over with two fingers, Aaron went.


	16. Morso Volte

Spencer couldn't help but staring in silent astonishment at his team as they followed Mr. Howlette back to the blackbird to be taken back to the airport and the team's jet, or more to the point, he couldn't help but stare at small bandages at the back of Morgan, Penelope, Emily, and Hotch's ... **Hotch's** ... necks, covering the bite marks Mr. Howlette had left just above the c7 vertebrae where the splenious cervicus and trapezius muscles crossed ... marks that would scar in the distinct pattern of Logan's bite defining a distinct and unarguable pack claim ... that they had all taken - for him. He could hardly credit his eyes.

Penelope and Emily were even wearing their hair up so the claim could be seen, which was just... well Penelope frequently wore her hair up, but this was different, and Emily almost never did, and they were doing it for him, claiming him as pack regardless of their superiors' ultimate decision and the cost it would undoubtedly mean for their careers. He would have told them not to show their support that way, not to derail their careers, and not to do so so-publicly -- if they'd asked. From their smirking expressions when they made their little announcement, Spencer decided there was a 76 percent probability that they had suspected as much. 

Regardless, it was an incredible act of kindness, support, and solidarity that he'd had no right or reason to expect. 

Jumping slightly as he felt a solid arm drop over his shoulders and a warm, liquor-tinged breath chuckling on his cheek, Spencer half-turned to appraise the Cajun gambler draping himself over Spencer. Much to Spencer's surprise, the customary anxiety he felt at being touched remained dormant despite the fact the Cajun - an alpha - was practically dominating his personal space. 

"Remy be tinking pauvre bete had not a clue dey'd be willing to do that for ya, no?" 

"No," Spencer agreed on a tight breath, "not a single clue." 

"Seems den to Remy that ya must be some kind of special to earn the support of a pack like them an Logan both: he don't just put himself out for nobody, not our parraine."

"Parraine?" Spencer questioned.

"Oui. Remy know that dere be someone out dere, some bon rein, maybe above ground - maybe not, that give Remy his blood. Den dere be mes pere, him that took Remy off de street n' gave Remy a home n' a famille n' wanted to make Remy pack when Remy was done growing but had to let Remy go his way when de guilds would have been feuding if he stayed. Den dere be Logan who took up the place of Remy's pere an been as good to him as any parraine or godfather should, so that be de name that Remy call _Himself,_ n' Logan's never told Remy to stop ... so Parraine."

"A bite doesn't suddenly make someone family, when there wasn't any sort of relationship there before." J.J. protested from a few feet behind them where she and Gideon had chosen to follow behind Remy as he pushed Spencer's wheelchair. More than slightly tired of the negativity he'd been picking up from her since waking and feeling somewhat uncharitable Spencer briefly let himself consider the possibility that they had chosen that position so that the glaring disparity of their unbandaged necks would be less notable.

Dr. McCoy, who'd been walking beside them, and thankfully -in light of the soft barely there growls he could hear Remy, Logan, Hotch, ... and Emily(?) making -the doctor decided to interrupt before one of the affronted group chose to answer: "No more so than someone saying 'I do' in a Las Vegas wedding chapel, yet the legal system considers them legally bound."

"But, that's different," she argued, in Spencer's opinion, choosing not to see the point he thought so obvious.

"No, it really isn't," Hotch and Dr. McCoy answered simultaneously. Only Hotch continued, "J.J. there's a reason that pack claims can only be taken as an adult, part of it is biology, but the greater part is that the recipient has to want, decide, and commit to being a member of a pack. It would be meaningless to mark a child who might well grow up to separate from the pack and in earlier eras, where fueds were still common, dangerous to both the child and the pack."

When J.J. looked confused at the last statement, Spencer spoke over Remy's irritated huff, explaining, "Being a pack member is not just about agreeing to follow the lead of the same alpha and working together; the pack is also bound to the action of any of its members. By accepting me into his pack, Mr. Howlette..." 

"Logan," interrupted with a soft exasperated huff.

"... Has also agreed to accept liability for any of my actions and debts if I can't pay them." Spencer continued, shrinking slightly under the other man's gaze as he went on, "even criminal activities that the pack and alpha had no reason or means to know of; the most famous example of this is an event widely acknowledged to have been the key precursor to the eruption of World War I when a Serbian Nationalist, but more relevantly for the purposes of our discussion a lesser member of the Black Hand Pack, 19 year old Gavrilo Princip, committed the 1914 assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand the nephew and heir of the Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Josef and his the Archduke's mate, Sophia. While it is true that the Black Hand Pack was politically-opposed to the Archduke, there is strong evidence supporting the accepted fact that Princip had not been sent by the pack to assassinate the Archduke and his mate but that - instead - had been sent by a higher pack mate to the Moritz Schiller Dellecatessin on the Appel Quay in Sarajevo to pick up a lunch order. Despite the evidence to that and the fact that Princip was armed and under order of a non-pack member, the Chief of Serbian Military Intelligence Dragutin Dimitrijevic, after Princip, Dimitrijevic, his second in command, and a Serbian spy (also non pack members ) were tried and executed as conspirators, 73 other pack members were summarily arrested and tried before a rival pack-controlled Serbian court between 1916–1917 on a variety of unrelated, trumped, and outright false charges; of the seventy-three, it is somewhat notable that the only three executed so-called conspirators happened to be the pack's three alphas. Of the remaining 70 pack members, 40 others (notably male betas) succumbed to a variety of demises only marginally related to the war in the three years that followed, so that by 1920 the same Serbian court ordered the forced 'adoption' of the remaining twenty female betas and ten omegas into the rival and allying packs. The accounts that have been found of the survivors suggest that they became little more than slaves to their 'adopting' packs. ... All as a result of one pack members unauthorized unanticipated action."

J.J. looked taken aback as she considered his example before protesting, "that's horrible, but it couldn't happen like that in this day and age."

Stunned by her naïveté, Spencer wasn't entirely certain what to say. Thankfully, Hotch took it up from there.

"While it is entirely possible that such conflicts would go through civil courts, if you consider events like Ruby Ridge, Jamestown, Eagle Hill... Is the possibility so far beyond belief?"

J.J. was silent for the remainder of the walk to the blackbird where they were met by Bobby Drake, a tall, thin, jovial-looking (despite the grimace he gave Remy) mutant who'd easily pass as normal and would be returning the blackbird in lieu of Mr. Howlette, Dr. McCoy, or Remy, who would be joining them on the flight back to Washington.

Very little more was said to Spencer as they boarded the plane, except from Gideon, who paused beside him to comment dryly, "You have a surprisingly in depth knowledge of pack dynamics for a feral who has spent twenty some years outside of the pack structure."

"In my circumstances, wouldn't you have found out all that you could about pack dynamics?" Spencer asked.

Although his mentor's tone was bland, Spencer was surprised to realize he was picking up a note of censure in the tone when Gideon answered, "No, Spencer, I wouldn't have; this job, if nothing else, should have demonstrated the folly of obsessing over events not meant to occur."

Spencer stared after his the man as he turned and climbed the steps to board, wondering if he had heard right... It almost sounded like Gideon thought he shouldn't have become part of a pack - despite the consequences to Spencer.


End file.
